


Dealer's Bluff

by Victorygin



Series: Pre-War Tobacco [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Minor drug abuse, Multi, Porn With Plot, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, evil courier, if you find something in here that you would prefer I tag please let me know, ill add more to the tags as i write, morally unconcerned, or at least, there is an end goal ship for the courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 14:13:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10743336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Victorygin/pseuds/Victorygin
Summary: Amnesiac and kleptomaniac with the stolen voice of an angel, Flora has almost no morality to speak of. Choosing her name from an old tomb on roman poetry, she is less concerned with who she was than who she can be. As an unapologetic yet charismatic liar, she can become whoever suits her needs at a given moment.The bullets did something to her head, that’s for sure. Flora can feel nostalgia for things she has no memory of, but unless she gets her memories back, she chooses to keep looking forward than back.This work is in the same universe as Chaplain, Exile, Paragon, but you do not have to read that one to enjoy this one.you can find me at: http://victoryygin.tumblr.com/





	1. The Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by Groovymarlin. Thank you so much for fixing my words and providing the feedback that keeps me writing

The sun was just peaking over the Mojave horizon, filling the sky with blood, gold, and a million shades of blue. Wiping his hands clean, Doc Mitchell took a seat on his porch, resting his legs. It was a beautiful sight, but no distraction for what he just went through. The operation had lasted the night, but she would live despite everything he knew about science and medicine. You didn’t just walk away from two bullets unchanged. He didn’t know who that woman had been yesterday, but she sure as hell wasn’t the woman asleep on his operating table. Not anymore.

“What’s the word on the little miss?” The Securitron asked in a low drawl, even in the early morning hours concerned that they might be overheard.

“She’ll live. Can’t say for certain what kind of life it’ll be till she wakes up, though.” He replied with a sigh, rubbing his temples.

“Mister New Vegas will be keeping our guest’s recovery hush hush, I trust you will do the same?”

There wasn’t much the Doctor _could_ say, not much about the past twenty-four hours was believable. "No one will even see her leave my house. It’ll just look like she wandered in from the desert. But what should I tell her when she wakes up?”

“Tell her she had a run in with some bad men, and that they were headed in the direction of the Strip most likely by the way they were dressed. After all, that’s the truth.”

_‘The truth maybe, but not the whole truth,’_ Mitchell wiped the sweat from his face, but didn’t say any of that. Instead,

“You know, part of my job here is to do no harm, and I can see a lot of harm in encouraging this one to track down her killer.”

“Would-be killer,” Victor clarified, his screen flickering for just a moment. “And if she can make it that far on what she’s got, I may have more use for her than originally planned. Just make sure she can walk on her own, talk and feed herself, then your job is done.”

The southern accent was still there, but the words didn’t quite match up. Too cold, too refined.

The doctor nodded, and Victor handed over a suitcase filled with far more caps than anyone in Goodsprings had any right to, by profession. He then rolled off to patrol the town as he usually did, but not before adding,

“I’m trusting you to remain discreet. I don’t allow for loose ends.”

 

* * *

 

The next few days were by no means quiet. A caravan man named Ringo came into town, stirring up trouble with the Powder Gangers on his tail. Goodsprings would have long since thrown the man out, if it weren’t for Sunny Smiles growing sweet on him. Mitchell stayed out of it, hardly able to leave his home what with his patient taking up most of his time anyway—

Watching her, feeding her through a tube and cleaning out the bed pans. Her fever finally broke sometime after the second day, and he was woken from a nap on the third by the sound of a heavy thump against the worn wooden floor.

“Easy now, easy,” he soothed, helping her back into bed, but she refused to lie down. Her eyes scanned the room, arms shaking as she struggled to stay upright.

“Who are you?” she croaked, voice sore from disuse.

“I’m Doc Mitchell. You took quite a hit there. Now get back into bed, you should really take it slow.”

“How long was I out?” She barely got through the question before a fit of coughs interrupted her. Mitchell passed her a bottle of water.

“Only a few days, but you haven’t had any solid food in that time. So how about we test those legs with a short walk to the kitchen and I’ll fix you a plate?”

Not trusting the man, but having no better options in her current state, she took his hand, immediately getting a headache once she was on her feet.

“There we go…Now try not to take this too hard, but there’s no better way of putting it: You were shot. Two bullets scrambled your brain pretty good, but what kind of doctor would I be if I didn’t find a way to bring you back anyway?” He chucked, trying to lighten the mood.

The smock hung from her thin body, muscles atrophied to barely anything and her hair hung heavy with oil about her face.

“Shot?” She was incredulous, but couldn’t quite piece together an alternative explanation for why she was in this man’s house. Mitchell set her down in one of the chairs, and the room was quickly filled with the savory scent of roasted Brahmin meat. He cut it into tiny pieces so her mouth wouldn’t have too hard a time. Serving them each a plate with some yucca and buffalo gourd, he sat down across from her.

“We can get into that later…but first, how about your name? You got a name?”

Her brow furrowed in concentration, but nothing came to her.

“What about where you’re from? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

Nothing. Panicking, she began shaking, covering her mouth to keep a sob from escaping. Mitchell put his hands up.

“Hey now, there’s a good chance all that will come back in a few days. For now, try to get used to eating again.”

It took time, but eventually she finished, leaning heavily against the table by the end of it. Swallowing was difficult, her throat and tongue swollen from disuse. Even picking up the fork was a challenge, so she settled for eating with her hands, as much as the mess disgusted her. While she ate, he asked her a series of questions, clearly psychological.

“Enough. Can I at least see what I look like?” The meal was doing nothing to ease her nerves. She wanted to run, to get away, but where could she go? She didn’t even know where she was, or what was out there.

“Alright, alright…I understand your frustrations, but let’s try to stay civil.” He left, returning shortly with a metal tray, the bottom thoroughly polished, enough to see herself.

She didn’t know what to think, looking at her reflection. There was nothing familiar, but it could have been worse.

With the help of a cane, she was able to move into the living room, where there was a duffel bag. But it was completely empty.

“Sure seems unsportsmanlike of your would-be killers, but that seems to have gone the way of civilization—extinct like damn near everything else.”

She scoffed, taking another bottle of water from Mitchell, continuing to walk about and stretch her legs.

“The sportsmanlike thing would have been to leave me the hell alone,” she growled, sweat soaking through her smock.

Looking over to the bag, she sighed. There was no changing things now.

Doc Mitchell made her go through several other tests, including an IQ test, questions that mostly boiled down to common sense, science, mechanics, it was oddly very thorough. The only thing he didn’t test her on was how to use a gun, for obvious reasons. But she remembered all the same, even if she couldn’t remember _herself_. There was a sort of muscle memory in her responses. Finally he handed her several books.

“Now while I’m sure you’ll get your memories back eventually, but I also think I should refer to you by something a little nicer than ‘hey you’, at least for now. Read through these, find a name you like. After that I won’t keep you here—although you’re welcome to stay as long as you need—but try to leave when there aren’t many around to spy you. I don’t want talk spread about the old doctor housing some pretty young stranger.”

It was strange, to him. Or rather, _she_ was. She had very light skin despite the sun. Not even a single freckle. He would have pegged her for a vault dweller had it not been for the courier note he found in her pocket. And there was something else…something in her eyes. A hardness, and sadness…regret that in this state she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Giving her privacy, he went to bed and she was left to find herself among two-hundred-year-old tombs. Most of them were histories, celebrity magazines, or fiction. The cover of one such novel caught her eye. _Fasti_. It was filled with strange names and stranger people. The way it was written was far different from the other books that were strewn about her feet as well. It was hours later into the night, her eyelids heavy and her head nodding when she got to the chapter titled May, and the origin of Flora. The first name that didn’t take several tries to guess the correct pronunciation. Visions of spring filled her mind as she read about the Nymph turned goddess.

_Trees…flowers…cool wind and thick grass that sent chills up her legs as they gently brushed her ankles. Everywhere green and lush. Her heart filled with love and happiness, so quickly willing to forget what chased her._

_But the grass withered, the trees died, there were no flowers here as two men overpowered her, throwing her to the ground as the third dug through her bag. Sand and grit was kicked into her eyes and nose and mouth as she struggled but it was no use and her arms and legs were bound. The world became darkness as a sack was thrown over her head, and she was make to kneel. A fire was started, she could tell by the warmth that washed over her front. They argued for a time, about which route to take now that they had the chip. The long way was safer…no need to go through the Quarry, no rush._

_At last she was allowed to see, looking into the eyes of her captor: Brown. Calculating. Somehow conveying smugness, reluctance…but she couldn’t quite make out his face. She squinted, tugging desperately against her bindings, but her body grew heavier until she was falling to the side. As if in slow motion, the world went sideways, with the words echoing in her mind,_

_“The game was rigged from the start.”_

 

* * *

 

Sometime later, she woke up, head in excruciating pain from the bullet wound and the bruise that would surely form on the other side of her head. Groaning, she struggled up, grabbing her cane and heading for the kitchen. In the deepest corner of his cabinets, she found coffee grounds. Mixing agave honey into the black liquid, she thought back to the night before. If the tests were any indication, she was smarter than the average wastelander.

_‘Not smart enough to avoid getting shot, apparently,’_ she thought with a grimace.

Good with tools, at least. She eyed herself in the mirror some more, occasionally eating leftovers from the day before.

Brown eyes that looked tired, a plain nose, low cheek bones, and a pair of full pouting lips. Her hair was sticking out at all ends…she needed a shower.

“I was hoping on saving that stuff for a special occasion,” Mitchell stood in the doorway, pointing at her mug before going to pour one for himself. “But I suppose bringing someone back from the grave is special enough.” The atmosphere cleared slightly when she smiled at his remark, and he was relieved to see the bullet hadn’t completely destroyed her sense of humor.

“Flora, I think,” she said, fingers tracing the cover of the book she had brought into the kitchen with her. “I…don’t know who I am, but until I do, I want to be called Flora.”

Mitchell eyed it suspiciously. Not many out there would recognize the origins of the name, but all the _wrong_ people likely would.

“Sounds fine, just don’t go spouting off Latin, people are on edge enough as it is.”

The newly self-christened Flora gave him a questioning look. With a sigh, he went on to explain the two major factions that had been eating into the Mojave on both sides, as well as a few more littered across the desert.

After a shower, Flora wore a dress and a hat that Mitchell had given her with nothing else to her name except a hand full of caps (also donated by the doctor) and the tattered leather armor she was found in.

“I think you should visit Victor down the way. He’s the robot that pulled you out of that shallow grave. He might have some other supplies to spare, get you back on your feet.” He managed not to slap his head as he remembered what Victor had instructed him to tell her. “By the way, some folks saw a man in a fancy checkered suit head south from here with two other guys. Probably taking the long way back to the Strip to the north of here. I’m not saying you should hunt that son of a bitch down…but I’m not going to stop you either.”

Flora gave him a funny smile, but nodded, taking her bag from him. “Thanks, Mitchell. Really.” She threw on a pair of sunglasses and walked outside.

As much as it felt like she should be mad at her killer, Flora was more curious than anything else. Why was she killed? Apparently she had been a courier; what was the package that was worth a life—her life?

The robot wasn’t much help, seeming to switch often between his usual drawl, and a different pattern of speech, even if the accent was still there. It made her suspicious, especially when he pulled a pip-boy out of his shack.

“It was buried with one of the unlucky fellas out there on that hill.” He explained. “Seemed a waste to let something so valuable stay buried.”

“Were you grave robbing when you found me?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” he chuckled. “I saw those men burying you. They were too much for little old me to take on, so I waited for those nasty men to clear out. As luck would have it, my scanners picked up on this pip-boy while I was digging you up.”

That raised a flag. “Why bother digging up a corpse?”

There was a pause, Victor’s screen flickered several times before he replied. “Those men attacked you for a reason. You must have been important; someone would be looking for you. If some family or friends came by, they would have every right to know your fate. You surviving two shots to the head was a down right miracle, miss. I wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth if I were you.”

It was a perfectly logical response, but it still set her on edge, especially when he added that last part. There was a warning in his voice.

 “Doc mentioned they were headed south, but the Strip was their destination…Where would you suggest I go?” She asked carefully.

“Well, darlin’ I don’t want to go leading you on a leash, but I know if someone stole something from me…I’d want it back.” His screen flickered constantly throughout his reply.

In the end, he gave her some odds and ends to sell, mostly scrap and old computer parts, but also ammo. Ammo for guns she didn’t have.

The general store wasn’t much better. The sun managed to get in her eyes through the cracks in the walls, dust filled her throat, but most of all Flora had no patience for the man who seemed to sell everything marked up due to the ‘high quality of the stock’.

“Straight from the Crimson Caravans,” Chet insisted, “we even have specialized ammo; incendiary, hollow point, you name it.”

“I don’t want anything fancy, I just need a gun to defend myself and something a little more durable than _this_!” Flora grabbed her skirt in a fist, shaking it slightly as he strained her patience further.

Chet scoffed. “That’ll cost extra, miss.”

“Don’t you have any discounted goods? Maybe something falling apart already?”

The shopkeeper was offended that she would even suggest that, but he sold her leather scraps to repair the armor she already owned, some food and a shovel. Victor had given her an idea.

 

* * *

 

The tired traveler took a sip from his glass, casually brushing dirt from his clothes. The drink before him didn’t contain any alcohol, but the rest of the patrons didn’t need to know that, they just needed to believe it—that he was just like them, maybe a few more caps in his pocket, but otherwise the same as everyone else. His eyes scanned the bar, watching in amusement as the barmaid argued heatedly with the man, Joe Cobb and his associate. The Powder Gangers would be so useful if they weren’t so…opportunistic. Their crude sense of loyalty that never extended to dying for the cause, that only went so far as to maybe fight for one another, but never to the point of risking one’s own mortality. It made him sick. As Joe made to leave, he bumped roughly into a woman coming in, he sneered something that should never be repeated in polite company to her before going on his way. She gave him an odd look and a small smile but didn’t say anything.

The sunlight seemed to create a halo about her that set her hair alight in amber flame. It was only after she cleared the threshold that it settled into a dark rosewood tint. There was a certain luminescence to her skin, light seeming to peek through the dirt that caked her legs. Dust and sand followed her in from outside, and while it certainly seemed to bother her, she didn’t do much about it but wipe some off onto her dress. But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

She was quite pretty for a wastelander, and always seemed to be smiling, in a knowing secretive sort of way, eyes wise beyond her apparent years. The only thing that marred her countenance was a blotch of red garish tissue around her left temple, but even that seemed to add rather than take away, at least in his opinion. Any other man like he was pretending to be would offer to buy her a drink, but that would eventually require him to consume some himself to avoid drawing suspicion. And that was by no means an option.

Flora was tired, physically and emotionally. The grave… _her_ grave. It was so hard to think about, to conceptualize. But it had been right there at the top of the hill, along with the rest of the departed and buried. The doctor and Victor had explained it all…and it made a sort of sense. But there was no changing the fact that she died and came back. That even in surviving, there might have been something permanently wrong with her mind. All Flora could do was wait until some potential trigger showed itself. And then what would happen?

The Sarsaparilla Trudy gave her tasted incredible; vanilla, sugar cane, and something tangy and citrus. The bottle was cool against her neck as she scanned the bar. It was a welcome distraction, but she needed more. She immediately caught sight of the man in a suit, surprisingly clean compared to the rest of the people in the bar. He was eyeing her coldly, but didn’t look entirely unwelcoming. She decided to sit down across from him at the booth.

He watched her silently, not sure how to approach the issue, and more than a little annoyed that she had made the first move. They stared each other down. He took in the slope from her neck, down her shoulders. The trail of sweat that cleared the dirt and delved between her breasts. Flora eyed him right back, the thin pale lips that turned down slightly. The tiny crow’s feet, lax now, framing powder blue eyes as the corners of his lips tightened.

“Want to talk? I’ve had a bit of a long day and I need a distraction,” she flashed him a smile, different from the one she had given the powder ganger. No, this one felt like he was holding a gun and it had misfired: disarming. Not waiting for his reply, she sat down across from him and took a sip from her soda. He didn’t turn her away. He couldn’t speak.

 “You have a name, don’t you?” Flora broke the silence, elbows on the table. Her breasts pushed together and even with the filth that covered her body, it was difficult to ignore his own bodily reactions.

“Vincent Fox…but a woman like you can call me Vincent…as much or as loud as you’d like.” He smirked, trying to gain the upper hand.

He expected her to blush, but all she did was smile wider, moving from across the booth to sit closer to him, played with his coat. Flora wasn’t really sure what she was doing, but it felt right, somehow. She was enjoying the warmth of his body and it helped take her mind off of everything else.

“I’d like that, Vincent.” She smiled at the way it sounded on her tongue. He was so fake, but she didn’t know how, only that he was. He flirted right back but remained completely reserved. The smile he wore was about as genuine as her own. It seemed fun, pushing him this far and wanting to know how far he could go. This was a game she could win. After all, what did she have to lose?

Vincent put an arm around her, eyeing the dress strap that was sliding down her shoulder. His character had time for a night of fun and so, certainly, did he. Besides, he reasoned with himself, it would look odd for him to walk away from a proposition from such a pretty girl.

“What shall I call you then?” he asked, leaning in to nibble gently at her ear, feeling her squirm against him and cross her legs. He watched her dress slide up, the faded black cotton specked with grime in some areas. A sigh escaped him as her hand squeezed his thigh, stroking up and down his leg while the rest of the bar remained oblivious.  
  
“Sarah.” She said after a split second. If he was a fake, she wasn’t going to be honest either—he didn’t deserve it. No, all she wanted from him was his body, and it certainly looked like a nice one. He felt lean through the suit, and his tongue felt good against her neck…Flora wanted it elsewhere.

“So, Sarah,” he mused, “Where are you from? Goodsprings isn’t your home, I would have seen you before today. Hard to miss such beauty in a place like this.” His voice turned cold in regards to the town, so cold it sent a chill down her spine.

“Close by,” she replied, trying to think of someplace Mitchell had mentioned. “Sloan.”

Vincent scoffed incredulously. “A desert rose it seems, well aren’t I the lucky one to have such company?”

She died. It didn’t feel like it, but in a way it also did. There was a cold emptiness inside her and Flora wanted—needed to know what she was capable of, beyond the tests and quizzes that Mitchell put her through, that her body was still her own, and that she could control it. And also feel pleasure in it. She needed to feel alive, warm in a way beyond the Mojave heat beating upon her skin.  
  
“Do you have a room, Vincent?” she asked sweetly, hand slowly climbing up from his knee.

 

* * *

 

Vincent practically threw Flora onto the bed, hurriedly stripping her of that dress and throwing it to the side along with her underclothes before leaning back to pull off his jacket and shirt. The last to go was his hat, revealing short dark brown hair. The dim lantern light played across her unmarred skin…that was even more…peculiar. His brow furrowed slightly, but Vincent filed that away for later, pressing her into the bed and kissing her hotly, running his hands up and down her sides. With the radio broken by the town’s recent ruffians, there wouldn’t be much to hide any noise they would make, but that didn’t stop Vincent from trailing down to her breasts, taking one in his mouth as he squeezed and tweaked the nipple of the other. He groaned in surprised arousal as Flora dragged his other hand between her legs, gasping as he worshiped her body, but clearly impatient for more. Fingers delved deep, curling expertly as his palm teased her clit with dull pressure. It was hard for Flora to keep her moans quiet, especially when his teeth came into play. Sucking lips and thrusting fingers broke her, covering her mouth to muffle most of it, but Vincent was quick to hold her hands above her head.

“Let them hear us,” he panted with need, “if music be the food of love, play on. Let them feed on our duet.”

Suddenly he was filling her to the hilt, making Flora yelp, helplessly shaking with post orgasmic sensitivity as he drove into her. Letting out an animalistic growl, Vincent released her wrists, pulling back to hike one of her legs over his shoulder.

Flora groaned, frustrated. It felt amazing but there was something missing. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Rolling them over, Flora ground against him urgently, tits bouncing as she dug her nails into his lower abdomen, riding him shakily in a desperate attempt to reach that finish line so far in the distance.

Vincent didn’t expect her taking control would turn him on so much but it did. It made him want to prove himself, to conquer her and make her scream his praises.

“Oh…ugh, Sarah.” Vincent pushed forward, sitting up to worship her neck, taking in as much of that perfect supple skin as he could as he thrust furiously into her molten heat. He riddled her neck with bites and red marks in impossible to hide places as she moaned louder and louder, shuddering as she got close.

“Vincent, more please, _fuck_ …me...” Flora couldn’t keep it down, flushed knowing that everyone downstairs could hear them.

She screamed as he bit down on her breast, easing the pain with his tongue and humming deeply against her. “Ah, fuck! Ohhh…” Flora came, clinging to his shoulders as she came apart in his arms.

Relief washed over Vincent as he pulled out, grinding against her folds before coming across her belly and chest. Grunting in false exhaustion, he fell backwards, pulling Flora with him. He would never be truly used up from a single encounter, but she didn’t need to know that. Flora smiled up at him tiredly, completely ignorant of who he really was. He smiled, affecting warmth.

As the orgasm high wore off, Flora was reminded of the heat of the room, of the dirt turned to mud from sweat that caked her legs and arms. She had been fulfilled yet left unfulfilled. What was missing? Frustration burned in her throat as she sat up and climbed off of the fake man. He silently watched her get re-dressed, not even tired from the coupling. Flora avoided looking at him until all her things were gathered.

“That was nice,” she said with a smile, her mask playful. “I’m gonna go wash up, but…it was nice to meet you, Vincent.”

That was odd. His eyes widened slightly. Odd and entirely unexpected. He had never slept with a profligate without learning a little more about them than a name and a hometown.

“And you, Sarah.” He purred what he thought was her name, licking his fingers and surprised to realize she tasted quite good, sweet even. It was a rare occurrence for him, but Vincent regretted not tasting her more thoroughly.

“Perhaps our paths will cross again sometime.”

Flora nodded non-committedly before slipping out of the room. He waited a few minutes before following her silently down the stairs so he wouldn’t be noticed, listening in on her quiet conversation with Trudy about the issue regarding the Powder Gangers.

Odd that a stranger would get involved like this rather than disappear into the night. He held a glass against the wall, pressing his ear against the base, trying to pick up the voices over what must have been Flora repairing that damned radio.

“Why not give them what they want? Who even is this Ringo?”

“We have a bit more hospitality here in Goodsprings than wherever you’re from…where did you say that was again?”

“Sloan. I didn’t mean anything by it, but it just seems odd, risking the entire town for one man.”

“Sunny took a shine to him, they’ve been sweet since he arrived a couple weeks ago,” Trudy explained, watching Flora work with mild interest, politely not mentioning the bruises that must be forming on her shoulders and neck by now.

Flora’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to concentrate on her work while also idly thinking of solutions to the town’s problem. It would be easy to convince the town to help in a fire fight, if the need arose; it was pretty clear they were all loyal and willing to help anyone who came into their town; Mitchell was a clear enough example of that.

But bottom line, she needed supplies. And Flora doubted even helping the town from a bomb happy gang would get her decent armor.

 

* * *

 

Flora lay in bed in Victor’s shack, staring at the snow globe she had found on the hill where she was buried. It was sunset by the time she completely raided all the graves, finding little more than some spare ammo for guns she didn’t have and spare caps that would hardly buy her a meal. She had seen the lights of the Strip turn on from that hill. They seemed so close but she knew it would take a week at least by foot. Flora couldn’t imagine what must be behind the walls of that great city, but she did know that if she couldn’t afford a gun, than she sure as hell couldn’t afford Vegas.

Victor watched her, or rather, his screen was on and he was facing her. He didn’t say anything, screen occasionally flickering, and Flora wondered if he could think, what would be going on in his mind. Why had he bothered to save her, and now let her stay in his shack? Endless questions filled her mind, but it was eventually crowded out by the sheer distraction of the Mojave climate.

She hated the dirt and the heat, she wanted a breeze that didn’t dry her eyes out, roads that didn’t kick sand into her shoes with every step, and buildings that didn’t look like they were going to fall apart if kicked too hard. As she thought of all these things, a solution and goal formed in her mind. She refused to stay like this forever, she would change—become better. She changed once, she could do it again, surely. She wanted lights and music and pretty people to surround her.

She wanted…Vegas.

 


	2. A Message in Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was proof read by Groovymarlin

Sweating bullets in the overly insulated gas station, Ringo cursed the day he ever agreed to work in the Mojave branch of the Crimson Caravan. Big mistake, huge fucking mistake. Sunny was a nice distraction, but these Powder Gangers were getting impatient…maybe he could sneak out through the mountains…but he sucked at rock climbing. Damn! He should have stuck to the outpost. Ringo was just about to sooth away the stress with a huff of jet when Sunny burst in, dragging along a slightly bewildered waif of a woman.

“Go on, tell him what you told me!” Sunny said excitedly.

“I—I talked around town…the store owners said they could lend supplies…Doc too. And Victor has that machine gun and laser cannon—he can definitely help fend off those gang members.”

Ringo got to his feet, hiding the jet under his mattress. “What?! I mean that’s great, but who are you? Why help a stranger like me?”

He was suspicious, hell yeah he was. You didn’t get as good as Ringo at Caravan and not tell a bluffer when he saw one. She wasn’t lying about the supplies, sure, but there was something…off about her. Too shy, too nice. She had other motives.

“She just appeared in town yesterday, helped Trudy with her radio. And who cares? She’s here to help,” Sunny insisted, too relieved to question the apparent miracle.

Flora only smiled mildly, casing the joint, Ringo noted. Just then, Trudy burst through the door.

“They are coming in, Ringo, time to fight them off!”

As the others rushed out the door, Flora stayed behind, quickly gathering the man’s things, as well as supplies from the shelf; she only had one chance at this. Once the filling station was emptied, she ran out to join the rest, firing a few shots, but nowhere near the Powder Gangers or anyone else for that matter. No point in making enemies. Flora slipped into the general store. It took a few bobby pins, but she got the safe in the back open. Emptying the back inventory, Flora left everything in the front untouched. She slipped back out just as the fight was coming to an end, Sunny shooting Cobb in the back as he was running away. There was cheering and everyone rushed to the bar for a round on the house courtesy of Trudy. Flora was relieved to see that Ringo went with them rather than back to his hideout. She stayed behind, rifling through the pockets of each of the fallen gang members. Victor joined her.

“Well howdy little darlin’, that sure was a fight…didn’t see you much till the end there.”

“I didn’t see you much either, Victor,” she deflected, undressing one of the lackeys and hiding his body under a truck, not wanting to draw attention.

“One of those baddies must have messed with my circuitry before the fight, I only just came to,” he replied, screen flickering. “So…will you be staying in Goodsprings long?”

“What do you think?” Flora zipped up her pack, checking her pip-boy while setting a swift pace south.

Victor chuckled, following after her to the town line. “Well I wish you luck in all your endeavors, miss. Especially where they entail revenge.”

Flora left Goodsprings in her dust.

 

* * *

 

“Fuck the Vipers, fuck bugs, and fuck that damn Mojave sun!” Flora swore, sweating bullets as she futilely attempted to wipe the fresh blood off her clothes. Five hours out from Goodsprings and she immediately wanted to turn back, even though she knew that wasn’t an option. They’d shoot her dead after the stunt she pulled. But she hated it out here. It was too hot, there was no moisture in the air and her lips were cracking horribly. It felt like every five minutes she was checking her pip-boy. It wasn’t until mid-morning the next day that Flora caught up to Primm. Something was immediately not right about the place, beyond the sound of distant gunfights that she always seemed to hear.

And there it was, the two headed bear, just as the doctor had described it. They were all overdressed for the weather in her opinion. As she watched some more, she picked up on a few things. A whole bunch of slackers pretending to be uptight, to her eyes. Slipping on a big pair of shades she had swiped from one of the viper gangers and brushing her bangs to cover up the large scar on her forehead, Flora wiped the rest of the blood off her clothes, thankful she’d stuck with the leather despite the heat—easier to clean.

“Howdy!” she beamed, bounding up to the nearest NCR soldier. The way her cleavage bounced in the slightly unbuttoned leather caught his eye, how dangerous it was to bare her chest so openly out in the wasteland not even passing through his mind.

“If I were you miss, I’d be passing through. The correctional facility has had some escaped convicts in the past few weeks, including Powder Gangers. Some of the convicts are holed up in one of the casinos here,” he explained, putting his hand up warningly.

“Oh, I know,” she continued to smile, pointing to the pip-boy on her wrist where Mister New Vegas was chatting away on low volume. Flora spied the Mojave Express sign peeking out from behind the town walls. “Actually…I need to get in there. I’m a courier, see, and I gotta talk to my supervisor.”

He rubbed the back of his neck exasperatedly. “Look, I can’t keep you from trying, but the place is crawling with some very dangerous people. My advice: let the NCR handle it. Might take a few days, but give us some credit; the two headed bear doesn’t back down from a challenge.” He winked and Flora fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“I think I’ll risk it.”

He held his hands up in surrender, watching her ass as she practically danced around the mines littered across the bridge to Primm. As if to brag, she actually turned around, smirking as she disarmed each one, packing them away into her bag.

Frustration, but never excitement passed through her as she faced the convicts standing watch around the Vicki and Vance casino. Her body seemed to move on its own as she dodged bullets, taking down each man with a single bullet to the head, just as she had done with the Vipers. Her heart didn’t race, nor did her hands shake as she downed each man.

The townsfolk were holed up in the casino clutching guns and watching the door as she knocked and peeked in.

“Don’t shoot?” It was an odd request, but they complied, letting her in and blocking the door behind her.

“Where’s your backup? Why aren’t the NCR with you?” Johnson Nash asked.

“Bureaucracy,” Flora shrugged, eyes glancing to the rows of safes peeking out from the back room. “Can you direct me to the owner of the Mojave Express over there? I’m one of the Couriers, and I have a few questions.”

Nash did a double take before giving a weak smile. “Sorry if I don’t recognize you; I have a lot of couriers working for me across the states. This place is more of a pit stop for my people who pass through for new jobs. Maybe I can check for your name in my records once this whole deal is cleared up.”

She pressed her lips together. “That won’t work…I…got into an accident a few days ago on one of your jobs. My head got screwed up and I can’t even remember my name. Not yet, anyway. Maybe something will come back.”

She tried to stay optimistic, Mitchell was the doctor and he said something might come back, but pessimism seemed to be more her nature.

“But that can wait…tell me about what’s going on here.”

 

* * *

 

Flora didn’t like to kill, but she didn’t mind it either. It was disturbing how little she felt as she snuck through the halls, the sound of men and women shouting to find her echoing through the halls. Turning the corner, she came upon three figures. One of them looked a lot like the deputy Nash had described. He had a gun to his temple.

“Freeze, you bitch!” the woman screamed, her back-up baring his teeth furiously behind her. “You gotta lotta nerve waltzing in here killing my guys. This the prick you’re after, right? Well too fucking bad! Get the fuck out of here, this isn’t your fight.”

“I can’t hear you,” Flora called, not lowering her gun.

“What?!” the convict said incredulously.

“I can barely hear you over _his_ blubbering.” Flora nodded towards the deputy, who was practically choking on snot and tears.

She smirked as both convicts glanced to the deputy, giving her an opening. Three shots rang out, and three bodies fell. It was almost like a diagram before her. Perform action A to trigger reaction B for C result. She shot the back-up which prompted the leader to shoot the deputy, giving Flora the opportunity to put another one through the woman’s eyes. Pulling the badge off the deputy, Flora also rifled through the others’ bags and pockets. Same as before in Goodsprings, but she left enough for the people of Primm.

Nash was quite upset at having lost the town’s second in command, but insisted no one share this news with the NCR. Instead, one of the local repair men wore the badge.

“Just don’t trust those folks, is all. They’re all about ‘annexin’ new territories’ without thinking maybe we don’t want no annexin’,” he explained to Flora, gritting a cigarette between his teeth and passing her one. “Gotta thank you for taking those men out alone too. Anything we can give you as thanks?”

“What about that robot…eye-bot, isn’t it? In your office? I could use an extra eye,” she replied, wincing as the smoke filled her lungs.

Nash chuckled. “If you can get the damn thing working again, sure.”

He and the rest of the townsfolk left her to pick through what the convicts had left behind in death.

 

* * *

 

The night breeze felt amazing, even if it always seemed to get hair in her face, no matter where she turned. Whoever Flora had been had left her with a decent knowledge of tech and repairs, or at least, enough with the help of a couple magazines snatched from Nash’s home. The entire town had moved from one casino to the other, looting the bodies before setting out to bury them.

But it wasn’t the wind, the people, or the bot that bothered her. It was the cigarette that Nash had given her. It wasn’t staler than usual, it actually tasted quite good. It wasn’t the taste that it left in her mouth…but in her mind. Flora felt her body warm as the smoke filled her body. Warm in ways she had only felt that night with Vincent. But it wasn’t Vincent who she thought of, it wasn’t anyone. There was a…muscle memory, a bodily reaction to the cigarette.

Anger boiled in her throat. Throwing away the pre-war tobacco, Flora went back to working on the eye-bot.

Victor found her on top of a hill, a few miles south of the Primm outpost. He watched her work, before turning slightly, seeming to notice the bag full of supplies.

“Sweetheart, half that stuff is useless unless you can get someone to buy it from you. But I guess the Primm folks wouldn’t take too kindly to you selling them back their own possessions?”

“Former possessions,” she corrected, loosening a screw inside the eye-bot’s inner chassis. “It’s mine now, just like whatever was on those convicts belongs to Primm now. Fair is fair. If you can’t keep it, you don’t deserve it.”

“Just like whatever you were carrying the night you were shot?”

Flora kept working, not bothering to look up. “It wasn’t mine, it was House’s. Robert House. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“How do you know this?” the Securetron asked, screen flickering.

“Nash couldn’t help me, but I looked though his files for recent jobs—not even that triggered any memories. He didn’t even have my name in his records, said some fellow took everything related to me shortly before the job and disappeared. Your guy wanted me and five others to bring bullshit random stuff across the desert to the Strip. But my thing wasn’t bullshit…was it?”

Victor was silent, screen continuing to flicker.

“Seems to me the reason you want me to hunt down my killer is more for your peace of mind than my own.” She put her hands up in defense while Victor’s screen flickered rapidly. “Now don’t worry, I still plan on putting a bullet through that son of a bitch’s head, but after that, I’m having a little talk with your boss.

The silence was heavy between them before Victor said,

“We will keep in touch.”

After he left, Flora closed up the eye-bot’s casing and within a few moments it came to life, rising into the air and turning to her. It chirped and beeped wildly at her.

“That’s alright, I’m searching for something too. I wonder which one of us will find it first.”

 

* * *

 

The desert was especially cruel in the mornings, the wind kicking up with a fervor as radscorpions and fire ants grazed, looking for prey, completely immune to the razor sands that churned about and hid the fox and his forces. The wind only raised the flames, the reek and billows of rust scented smoke spread north and Vulpes smiled. A gift for New Vegas; a gift, an omen, a promise. He turned his eyes from the scene, raising his binoculars once more to check on the profligates of the Mojave outpost. Those fools were spread too thin, with so little discipline among their forces and people it was laughable. The NCR won the first battle at Hoover Dam, but the second belonged to the Legion. And soon, so too would the Mojave belong to the great Caesar.

With the help of binoculars he spied the albino ranger who had the hubris to call herself Ghost. She was speaking to someone covered head to toe against the beating of the wind and sand, a woman by the shape and stance of her. She turned slightly, following Ghost’s finger as it pointed to Nipton, the smoke too distant for either too see, but it was clear what the ranger was asking of her. A coil of anticipation knotted itself in Vulpes’ stomach as he caught the flash in the traveler’s eyes through her goggles.

What would she think of his message? Would she admire his vision, his lesson to the degenerates of the world?

Would she be different?

His men would be done enacting his judgment by now; Vulpes packed away his binoculars, setting a fast pace to return to Nipton.

 

* * *

 

To Goodsprings she was Flora, and now to the NCR she was Flo: chipper wanderer who needed to get some sun, at least according to everyone who passed her at the outpost. The place seemed too twitchy to risk nabbing any valuables, so she actually did honest work, feeding the brahmin and killing off the fire ants blocking an intersection. People seemed to like her, or the person she pretended to be around them.

But who was to say this wasn’t her? Maybe this was how she was before the bullets. Flora made a face. She damn sure hoped not. Flo was annoying as hell, at least to her.

She couldn’t stay here for long, and sure didn’t want to, and the jobs were running out. That one ranger with the funny name wanted her to scout ahead for them, and that seemed perfectly fine, in her mind. But that opinion quickly changed when she reached Nipton. Bodies hung from crosses barely alive and too weak to notice her, merely waiting for death at this point. The crimson of blood and legion flags was stark against the bright noon sky. The reek of burning bodies and tires filled her lungs, making Flora want to cover her face again. But then she saw the legion soldiers and their leader. The man with the wolf mask. She knew she needed to remain calm and miraculously, her body followed suit, just like when she faced off against the convicts. Her heart didn’t beat any faster than normal, nor did her shoulders tense up or hands shake.

Flora was as cool as a cucumber as the legionaries ran to circle her, their leader slowly walking up to close the ring. Her eyes slid across each hooded face, finding no explanation of what had happened here from the tinted goggles and dust covered bandanas that hid all emotion from her before settling on the leader. It wasn’t until he spoke that realization dawned upon her.

“Don’t worry. I won’t have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates. It is quite fortuitous that our paths have crossed.” He smirked at the little inside joke, and Flora resisted the urge to roll her eyes while her mind raced with the implications of this latest revelation.

“If I can’t know your face, can I at least know your name?” she asked, playing dumb as he had.

“I am Frumentarius, Vulpes Inculta. I would also know the name of my messenger,” he spoke leadingly.

“I’m Flora. Can I ask what happened here? What could the people here have done to possibly deserve this fate?” she asked, and it was time for Vulpes to do a double take. She had had no reason to lie to him before, so which name was true? The question would distract his mind; he must look into this.

“The Mojave is sick, and Nipton was but one open sore on the desert face. This was a town of whores, liars, cheats—wicked, debased, and corrupt down to the last. With every new sin tacked on, so inevitably would come Nipton’s punishment. Thus the whirling of time brings in his revenges, here in the form of the Legion.”

He stepped forward, swiping a ticket from the soiled ground and pressing it into her hands, finders tracing hers before pulling away.

“And what is mortality without lessons learned? It was I who proposed the lottery. Not only did it prove a fitting penance, but when each low life did nothing when their ‘loved ones’ were dragged away to be killed…Then I knew the punishments fit the crimes perfectly. So tell me…what do _you_ think?”

Flora made a show of looking about, pausing at a particular fire. The limbs that poked through the flames were far too small.

“I think they got what they deserved…” she said softly, looking back at him with a glint in her eye. Her gaze sent a shiver down his spine that he just barely managed to hide.

“It does have a stark beauty, doesn’t it?” he returned. “It is rare to find an outsider who can appreciate our cause. And now I have a request for you, Flora. Spread word of this; let the NCR _know_ who they are up against.”

“I can do that. Until next time…Vulpes.”

He followed the way her mouth shaped his name, her tongue peeking out to wet her lips. It had been a mistake to use her name in front of his men, he should never lower himself to allow a profligate much less a woman that level of respect. But her name stuck in his mind. The nymph turned goddess. Perhaps there was more to this one than he originally thought.

 

* * *

 

Flora let out a sigh of relief, closing the door behind her. It was a good thing she had left ED-E in the store to watch the injured Powder Ganger.

“Are they gone, were you able to find me something to take the edge off?”

Flora passed him five syringes of med-x. “That guy in the mask; did the Legion really kill everyone here?”

“What the fuck do you think? Of course they fucking did. I think they had some deal with the mayor. He was the first to go. Foxy boy said something about touching little kids and locked him in the town hall full of their rabid dogs and other ‘compliants.’”

Leaving before she had the displeasure of watching him overdose, Flora backtracked to the outpost after grabbing as much as she could carry from Nipton to sell and tell them what she had seen. She was able to make quite a bit of caps, finally buy some of the stuff she needed, even a few rounds of some of the fancier ammo. Travelling through the night, Flora couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. She fucked a legionary. Not just that, a high ranking officer. Seemed a bit taken with her too.

She felt bad that she hadn’t spared a few bullets for the poor souls that had been crucified. But they would die soon anyway, she reasoned. Hell, they were probably dead already.

ED-E followed behind her, silently chirping to himself about how nice it was to get out of Primm. Even from this distance, she could see the lights of Vegas over the dunes. She heard from a woman in the outpost’s bar that she would need two thousand caps to get into the strip, not to mention how expensive everything else in and around the place was. She only had about five hundred. Taking out a cigarette, she lit it against an exposed wire sticking out of ED-E’s chassis. The feeling didn’t go away, but at the same time, it wasn’t a feeling she was willing to let go of yet. If nothing else, it was proof that she had existed before those bullets. _Something_ made her feel this way, even if she couldn’t remember it. She checked her pip-boy. It was nearly one in the morning. Looking ahead, she saw a giant Dinosaur.

 

* * *

 

Jeanne May tapped her pen against the clipboard on the counter, deciding to give it another two hours before she ended her shift. Who was going to stop her anyway, in this small quiet town? She loved it though, wouldn’t change it for the world. The bell she had set up above the door tingled, and in stepped a dusty, but undeniably beautiful woman. She fluffed her hair, more dust coming loose and drifting to the floor. Jeanne gave her a wide fake smile, reminded too much of another former member of their little town.

But this one smiled right back, in a tired exasperated way, and it made Jeanne May feel…included; in a secret that only they knew. Or like Jeanne had been through whatever this one had been through, and they had a shared experience together or something. She smiled a little wider and more sincere.

“Welcome to Novac, little lady. Need a room?”

Flora leaned against the counter. “I would… _love_ that, actually. I’ve been travelling all night, from Primm,” she confided, “me and my friend here.”

Jeanne only just noticed the eye-bot hovering behind her. It looked a little worse for wear, a “student driver” bumper sticker holding some of the casing together, but it wasn’t blowing smoke everywhere, so she didn’t complain.

“Well the rooms here are two fifty, but since we don’t get many people come through…how about one fifty?”

Looking at her with playful suspicion, Flora asked, “No catch?”

“None!” Jeannie waved her arms before herself, laughing. “Just Novac hospitality, is all! Stay as long as you like, just drop off the key when you do decide to leave. Although I will warn you, _most_ people who settle down here never leave.”

 

* * *

 

The shower had felt amazing, and the breeze was pleasantly cool against her damp hair.

‘There were so many stars…’ She thought, taking a drag from her cigarette as she leaned against the railing outside her room. ED-E was “asleep” inside, or whatever he did when he stopped hovering.

One hundred and fifty caps poorer. She needed the room though, some place to leave her things. But she also needed more money. Way more if she was ever going to make it into Vegas.

Eventually all that was left of the cigarette was the butt. With a sigh, she put out the embers into palm of her hand, brow furrowing from the burn. She heard a whistle to her left.

“Tough girl, huh? Shouldn’t ruin your pretty hands.”

She turned; a man in a dirty suit winked at her, holding out his hand expectantly. Instead of handing him one, Flora stepped closer, placing one between his lips and putting one in her own. Her lighter sparked to life between them.

“Hi,” she blew smoke in his face, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m Flora.”

“Bruce Isaac. Come here often?”

Flora snorted, covering her mouth with one hand. “Is that the best you can do? Come on, try again. Invite me over for a drink, tell me all about how you killed a deathclaw with your good hand taped behind your back.”

“I would, but you wouldn’t believe me.” He chuckled, “But how about that drink? I live _insanely_ close by.”

His place was pretty bare bones. “That stain really brings the room together,” Flora noted as they settled on his bed, a bottle of vodka between them.

“So what’s your story? Wasteland sharpshooter taking refuge in a small wayward town while his gun cools?” she asked while he took the first swig from the bottle.

“Not quite…I’m less a hero than you think I am…I have a dark side.” He winked again.

“Then confess, you sinner,” she laughed, climbing into his lap, getting bored of the foreplay and hoping he would just fuck her already.

“I plowed my boss’s daughter then fled the state.”

Flora leaned back, looking at him incredulously. “Gotta say, the dirty talk took a turn.”

She slid off his lap, taking another sip of the alcohol, as she curled into his side instead.

“Hehe, sorry, you just seem like a nice person to vent to. Lady wasn’t even worth it, her dad was so mad.” He laughed at the memory. “Honestly it was a bad move, had to skip town, and no one’s going to hire me out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Well thanks for totally ruining the mood…” She sighed.

“Oh, don’t be like that!” Bruce cooed, stroking up and down her thighs as he got on top, playing with her breasts and grinding against her core as he began undoing the button on his pants.

“You’re right though, I’m sorry. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t be made to wait,” he muttered, lips tracing her jaw as her breath hitched and Flora rolled her hips against his.

“That’s right…get nice and wet for me. You’re so gorgeous.” Flora was beginning to figure out just how this man got into his boss’s daughter’s pants. He was very good: Touching her in all the right places, making sure she was ready for him, praising her and making her feel so warm and cared for in the moment. Bruce was much more considerate than Vulpes had been.

But when they were done, all that left her, just like it had with Vulpes. In the silence punctuated by their panting breaths. Flora moved to get up, but an arm wrapped around her waist.

“Now don’t be like that, sweetheart; I wasn’t _that_ bad was I?” he groaned, kissing the back of her neck.

“No, not at all. You were great, actually.” She smiled, despite being slightly unsettled by the post sex affection. She moved a bit, but closer to Bruce this time.

“That’s more like it. Can’t help that I’m a cuddler. So what about you? What brings you to Novac?”

“Can’t say,” she replied cryptically, even though it was completely true. She couldn’t say because she didn’t know. Flora knew she needed to get into the Strip, but she had no idea how.

“Well,” he said with a yawn, “when you can, I’d love to hear it. Anything to ease the dull of the day here.”

After a few hours, when she was sure he was asleep, Flora snuck out, swiping his lighter even though hers still had plenty of fuel.

The front desk was unoccupied when Flora slipped in. Well, slipped in was a bit of an exaggeration for wasting two bobby pins before the door finally opened to her. But Flora hardly knew herself, so she didn’t know if she was the type to split hairs about it.

 _‘That’s a convenient way to look at things.’_ She ate a breakfast of stolen sugar bombs and dandy apples while she broke five more bobby pins on the safe behind the desk.

Most of it was pretty normal: Extra ammo, miscellaneous keys, a hefty sum of caps—all pretty normal until she found a small piece of paper, folded and hidden on the inside of an ammo box.

She felt odd as her fingers brushed the edge, as if she might remember something by reading it. But the moment passed when she read it.

_We, the representatives of the Consul Officiorum, have this day bargained and purchased from Jeannie May Crawford of the township of Novac the exclusive rights to ownership and sale of the slave Carla Boone for the sum of one thousand bottle caps, and those of her unborn child for the sum of five hundred bottle caps, the receipt whereof is hereby acknowledged. We warrant the slave and her young to be sound, healthy, and slaves for life. We covenant with the said, Jeannie May Crawford, that we have full power to bargain and sell said slave and her offspring. Payment of an additional five hundred bottle caps will be due pending successful maturation of the fetus, the claim to which shall be guaranteed by possession of this document. M. Scribonius Libo Drusus et al._

_Administrators of M. Licinius Crassus, Consul Officiorum ab Famulatus_

Flora made a note to herself to pick up some Latin phrases. Seemed helpful if the Legion was going to keep popping up. She didn’t know much about the world she was birthed into by a faulty bullet, but she was pretty sure slavery was frowned upon by the majority.

 Slipping out and re-locking the door behind her, Flora made her way to the giant dinosaur, seeing a set of stairs and a door at its side. ED-E stayed behind, wanting to run diagnostics and try to re-analyze its files. The eye-bot seemed to be as lost as Flora was, and there was a sense of kinship between them from this. Like with Jeanne May’s office, the gift shop was also well air conditioned, which was a mercy. Mornings in the Mojave, despite the dry climate, were somehow still quite humid, making the grime of the desert stick to her and rub rashes in between her toes. Cliff Briscoe yawned, sipping tiredly at his sarsaparilla, giving her a tired wave as he messed with the dials on his radio. Mr. New Vegas still hadn’t mentioned her by name, despite her involvement in the Goodsprings shoot out and helping the people of Primm with their convict problem. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or suspicious. A man in sunglasses and a red beret bumped into her, stumbling out from the door to the left of Briscoe’s desk. He smelled faintly of whiskey. The stare he fixed her with was harsh, but not in a way that was directed explicitly at her.

“S’cuse me,” he grunted.

She shrugged, watching him fish through his pockets for something. She sighed, pulling the pack of cigarettes out of her back pocket and passing one to him. Thanking her quietly, he left, passing another man who was just entering. The two didn’t seem to want to spend too much time in the same room. They stared each other down for all of five seconds before going their separate ways.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you like the story, it really helps me to keep at it :)


	3. Comfort in the Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was proofread by Groovymarlin

“Don’t mind Boone,” Cliff tried to reassure Flora after watching the exchange, even though she wasn’t bothered. “His wife ran out on him about a month ago; he took it pretty hard.”

“Is it very strange to take that sort of thing badly?” Flora asked, almost laughing.

“Of course not, if it weren’t for the fact that Boone is so damn paranoid about everyone that looks at him funny. Seems to think someone in Novac got her taken. Thinks it was me especially,” the other sniper that Boone had bumped into piped up.

“And why would he think that?”

“Listen, I don’t know you, miss. I don’t mean to be rude, but aren’t you being just a little bit nosey?” he snapped, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

Flora really did laugh this time, waving her hands. It was disarming, and for some reason he immediately felt foolish. “Sorry! I’m sure it looks like I just rolled into town with one of the caravans. I’m not usually curious in my daily life, but Mr. New Vegas sent me out here to check up on things.”

Briscoe shrugged when the sniper looked at him questioningly. “Don’t look at me, Manny; Jeanne didn’t say anything about a reporter.”

“Between you two and me,” Flora leaned in confidingly, “Jeanne didn’t really have anything newsworthy to say. Manny—can I call you Manny?—is there any chance I can get an interview? You must have a good view of the goings-on here, surely you have something to share with the Mojave.”

“You can call me Vargas. And why would I share our private lives?”

Flora thought of the one thousand caps that had formerly belonged to Jeanne May. “There’s two hundred and fifty caps in it for you, and I’m sure the NCR would be more willing to help out with towns that need it—or at least make the news.”

That seemed to be enough to sway Manny. The two men whispered in low voices before the sniper lead her up to the mouth of the dinosaur. He told her all about Boone and his runaway wife, or at least, that’s what the entire town seemed to think.

“She was a real handful, that one. A broad from New Vegas. Boone met her on leave and he was a goner from the start.”

“And you don’t believe Boone when he said she was kidnapped?” Flora asked, pretending to record their conversation on her pip-boy. “I noticed some Legion patrols near this area; what if they took her?”

“If the Legion went to the trouble to take Carla then they would have gone ahead and razed the whole damn town like they did with Nipton the other day,” he reasoned. “But I don’t really care about that. You said the NCR might help us with good reason: You have more confidence in them than I do, but listen to this. There have been some ghouls congregating around the old Repconn test center. Showed up around the same time McBride’s brahmin numbers started taking a hit, actually.”

“Was Carla liked by anyone in town except her husband?” Flora pressed.

“Hard to say. I don’t think the Brahmin minded her, but she always kept her distance from them.” Manny let out a barking laugh.

He told her little what he called “people pieces” about the people of the town: never listen to no-Bark Noonan, Mysterious Ms. Whitman and her stories about piloting Vertibirds in the war further west.

“And what about you? Can you tell me why you don’t trust the NCR to help?”

“I’m one of their retired soldiers, like Boone. The thing about the NCR is they only really take care of their own, and sometimes not even that. And if you aren’t on their good side, then you better hope you’re not on their bad side…just ask the Khans.”

Manny refused to say anything more about it.  
  
“Well thank you Vargas. I’m sure at least one of those stories will make the air,” she smiled with fake reassurance.

 

* * *

 

Jeanne jumped when Flora came through the door of the front office. She had been on edge all day since she came in and did inventory. She was missing it—all of it! Couldn’t even find the bill of sale. Did he know? How did he know? Surely he hadn’t caught on??

“Oh, it’s you! Come on in dear, is the room okay?”

Flora smiled, holding up a bottle of wine. “The room is wonderful. Hey, I found this with one of the caravans. Excellent vintage, aged to perfection!”

Jeanne laughed at that, some of the anxiety melting away at the welcome newcomer. “It’s a bit early, but don’t mind if I do!”

It must have been the jitters, because Jeanne was pretty affected after two glasses. She squinted, trying to focus on Flora’s glass which never seemed to empty. Her mind couldn’t linger on that for long however, since Flora kept talking. She held Jeanne’s attention as she continued to fill the woman’s glass.

“So, I don’t know if I told you, but I’m actually a travelling reporter for Radio New Vegas.”

Jeanne May nodded, leaning heavily against the table and very drunk.

“And I was asking around…Boone had a wife? What was that all about?”

Jeanne made a face, throwing up her hands. “Yeah he _did_! And I don’t like to use this kind of language normally, but between you and me she—she was a _slag_! I swear he picked her up from Gomorrah. When I—when she skipped town, who knows what she left him with, disease-wise, you know?”

Flora’s eyes tightened, pretending to take another sip of her drink. “Wow, she sounds terrible. This place must be way better now that she’s gone, yeah?”

“Of course!” Jeanne was practically shouting now, slurring her words. “This is just…a small town, full of nice people trying to make it by. And she—she was _not…nice_!”

 

* * *

 

Boone was where he usually was when he wasn’t guarding the town—drowning in whiskey. The knock at his door was like thunder. He scrambled for his gun, but before he knew it, the woman from earlier was standing before him, holding his rifle. She snagged the cigarette from his lips. It was the one she’d given him before.

“I heard you were looking for who took your wife. I can help you with that.” She casually took a drag.

With a bit of fixer and a few Mentats, Boone was sobered right up, clutching the bill of sale in his shaking hands. Flora paced about his room, eyes sliding over the dresser and cabinets. Noting which ones were hanging open and which ones looked like they hadn’t been touched in some time.

“Now, if you’re going to make a mess of this place, I’d prefer you do it after I’m long gone,” she said, “but if you’d like to do this quietly…I can help you.”

“Oh yeah, and for what?” Bonne snapped. Nothing was free. No one just waltzed into town, gave him everything he had been looking for, offered to help him kill that bitch, and expected nothing in return.

“Not much, just that,” she pointed at his hat. “I like the red, plus it would go great with one of my dresses.”

A plan formed in Boone’s mind as he took the beret from his head. Everything he had stood for, all the killing he had done for the NCR. What good had they done him? The happiest he had ever been was with Carla, and now she was gone. The NCR hadn’t so much as sent back-up when he tried to save her, forcing him to do the unthinkable.

“Deal.”

 

* * *

 

It was well past midnight when Boone noticed Flora was sitting next to him. He didn’t hear her come up, or walk to his side. Hell, he only turned because of the flick of her lighting her cigarette. Without a word, she passed the flame and a roll of the old world tobacco to him, and he took it, equally silent. They sat like that for a bit, letting the smoke fill the night air.

“Are you going to stay here?” she finally asked.

Boone had been waiting for it. It was inevitable in his mind.

He couldn’t stay, and she knew it. For a moment he was angry. As if helping him had all been part of some bigger plan. He didn’t like feeling used.

But what had he done, really? Pulled the trigger and served himself.

This stranger—who called herself a courier despite carrying nothing of value—walks in, tells him who sold his wife, and even assists in a murder without batting an eye. He knew some of the bitch’s blood had gotten on Flora’s face and clothes; he saw it through the scope. But she had already cleaned up and changed. So professional. So quiet. She had even managed to sneak up on a former NCR ranger.

“I’m not an idiot,” he finally answered.

“Never claimed you were. But what I really need to know is if you can control yourself,” she said bluntly. “I don’t want you painting my road to Vegas red with Legion blood. I don’t need more enemies.”

Boone scoffed, taking a swig of his whiskey angrily. “Like that would be a bad thing? The Legion hates everyone and everyone hates the Legion, me most of all.”

“That’s what I thought,” Flora sighed, adjusting the beret on her hair and heading for the door.

“Goodbye, Mr. Boone. You don’t have to stay here, but you’re not coming with me. You’re too good a shot.”

When Boone eventually got back to his room to pack, all of Carla’s things were gone. All the pretty dresses and makeup she had saved from the Strip—all gone.

 

* * *

 

ED-E didn’t like that. It was bad enough she stole from the front desk lady, a widower was too far.

“What was he going to do with a few dresses and some makeup? If anything, I was doing him a favor. Without all that stuff to remind him of her, Boone can finally move on. Besides, Carla had excellent taste.”

ED-E wasn’t content with that leap in reasoning, but stayed quiet.

“But none of that matters, because I still don’t have enough for Vegas! I may be able to get in, but not _live_ there…”

She fiddled with her radio, looking for anything better. “Just hick shit and that stupid Vegas prick…”

_“Has your life taken a turn? Do troubles beset you?”_

Flora laughed at the irony as the station came in. It was unmarked except for coordinates. The woman’s voice was smooth and seductive, beckoning Flora to come and find her.

_“…The Sierra Madre grand opening this October... We'll be waiting.”_

It was a start, even if the road to get there wasn’t exactly risk free. The place was crawling with NCR and Legion foot soldiers, and Flora couldn’t exactly play nice with one while the other was close enough to see. As she neared the Legion encampment, she had ED-E hide in a nearby cave. She would find a safe path first before bringing him through. The Legion hated anything advanced, at least by what Doc Mitchell and Manny had told her, Flora certainly wasn’t going to risk it.

Their patrols were organized to say the least. It wasn’t quite like clockwork, they were sure to keep it irregular and slightly staggered; an unpredictable pattern. Flora was about to get back to ED-E and find a longer route around when she felt a sharp blade against the back of her neck.

“Don’t move, degenerate.”

She was bound and dragged into Nelson.

Dead Sea was waiting for her; she was surprisingly good at evading his guards, but he had finally tripped her up by changing up the patterns. Dead Sea loved chess and in his eyes, this was no different.

“ _Ave,_ ” she said, keeping her cool as she was forced to kneel before the man.

“What are you doing here? Did the NCR really think they could sneak a scout past us?”

“ _I was just passing through. I have no love for the NCR,”_ Flora insisted speaking Latin _. “They let my village starve. My parents were killed by cazadors because of them_.”

“Then how do you explain this?” Dead Sea showed her the beret they had found on her person.

“ _I killed a man in Novac who had it. I recognized him as one who abandoned my village in its time of need_.”

Dead Sea sighed. No point in speaking English if she was going to be so stubborn. Who was she, anyway? She didn’t look like a runaway slave, perhaps she was one of the caravan hands for Dale. He continued in Latin. _“What is your name?”_

“ _Flora. Vulpes sent me as a messenger about Nipton.”_ She closed her eyes in mock ecstasy. _“The looks on their faces when I told them Nipton burned…the NCR will pay for setting the Mojave to ruin_.”

His eyes widened. Vulpes had mentioned her, but had not spoken of her—only that she was his. She would not be killed, and not be captured. Vulpes was very curious to observe her, said this woman might be an asset. This kind of hate for the NCR, he could see why. A desert rose, Vulpes had called her. More like a cactus, Dead Sea thought. The kind that hid behind rocks and waited to strike. But he could see the truth in Vulpes’ words. She was beautiful for a tribal profligate. Dead Sea nodded to his men to free her. He returned her bag, and the beret.

“ _You may go freely, but do not interfere with the Legion again_.”

Flora nodded hurriedly, bowing low to him once she was allowed to stand.

“ _True to Caesar_.”

 _“…True to Caesar_.”

 

* * *

 

The streets were stained with blood, both new and years old. Gore and poison seemed to sink in and penetrate the body, filling the lungs and getting in the blood. That…man, that bastard more like. After everything he had done and now this. She stroked the scars on her head, the chaos that filled her mind. It had never been the same since the Empty. She couldn’t…do things like she used to. All the equations, complicated work—it could never get from her brain to her hands; something always messed up along the way.

Why did she choose to get the hardest one first? Breaking into a damn hospital filled with holograms and radios wasn’t high on her list of good ideas. But here she was, clutching a knife spear and tapping the release code into the farthest room’s auto-doc.

Flora gasped as light broke the darkness. She wanted to scream for help, fear, and agony, but her voice was gone. All that was left of her voice was a jagged red scar across her neck. It burned painfully when the slave collar rubbed against it.

“Are you alright?” The woman before her asked, helping Flora up from where the auto-doc had dropped her. She was in a grey jumpsuit that was covered in blood and other putrescins. She was completely bald with scars of her own. But they were older, and cleaner.

_‘Someone must have dug around in her head as well. At least they used a scalpel instead of a bullet.’_

“Can you speak at all?”

Flora tried again, but nothing came out.

“Fine then. I’m Christine.”

She put her arm out. “What’s yours? Spell it out on me.”

Flora did so, relieved. Her hands were still shaking from the recent trauma. She couldn’t remember anything after getting knocked out by gas in that abandoned bunker, only faint shadows. Hands squeezing around her neck as what she now realized was the collar buzzed to life…smaller hands dragging her along before she was stuffed in the auto-doc…

Christine rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. “Listen: we are in this together, okay? You die, I die. So I’m gonna do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. We are gonna get out of here, and I promise I’ll make Elijah pay.”

Before they left, Flora looked through the rooms for supplies. She was far more thorough than Christine had been, even looking through the doctor’s personal files. Flora needed some grounding. All she had wanted was to scavenge through ruins for some pre-war money, then she got gassed and some snarling blue monster grabbed her and dragged her miles to who knows where.

The patient medical history didn’t turn up much, except there was one woman who had extensive repeat visits. Vera Keyes…some starlet from before the war complaining of chronic pain. The doctors couldn’t find what was wrong with her; wrote it off as fibromyalgia. She also allegedly had some issues with her throat. But the latter was likely due to her med-x abuse, or at least that’s what the doctors thought. Oddly enough, she never went to the clinic alone, but was shadowed by her colleague, a Mr. Domino. On her last visit, she was accompanied by one Sinclair, who proposed moving an auto-doc into the casino. Flora shivered; she couldn’t imagine willingly getting into one of those things after what it did to her.

After a while it felt like Flora was just reading messages the staff sent to each other about the two and the Sinclair fellow. A bunch of gossip by the looks of it. She and Christine left the clinic.

 

* * *

 

_The cheery sunlight beating down on them while tourists passed them by, smiling with all the saccharine exuberance they could muster._

_‘_ Come. _On_! _’ Dean sneered behind his sunglasses. It may not have been every day that these people saw a celebrity, but it was damn near close. The Sierra Madre was crawling with them in preparation for the grand opening. Dean held Vera tightly to his side and away from anyone who might even think of getting too close. She was especially on edge today, avoiding eye contact and jumping at any loud noises. Part of him felt a little bad for her; this was the third time they had been to the clinic this week. But it would all be worth it in the end._

_Those doctors and nurses were getting a little too nosey for his taste, overly curious as to why he was always bringing her in when she never actually went through with the treatments Dean claimed she needed—only asking for more drugs to take back to the casino._

_When they left, Dean noticed she looked especially sickly under that sun hat. In frustration he tore it off her head._

_“How do you expect to get better without a little sun?” he barked, lighting up a cigarette._

_Vera recoiled, unable to get very far with his arm around her. She muttered under her breath, “You don’t want me to get better, that’s the whole point.”_

_He ignored her._

 

* * *

 

It was a mercy that they found a magnum for Flora to use. She was terrible with the spear, too scared to get close to the monsters that skulked through the alley ways.

Christine called them ghost people.

She avoided wasting bullets, only getting close after they were down so she could saw its head off with a knife. By the time they made it back to the center fountain, she was covered in more filth than Christine. She coughed soundlessly. Even by the fountain, the smoke was too thick for her. Christine pulled one of the pre-war dresses she had been collecting out of her bag. Hesitant, but feeling she could spare one, Christine ripped a large square out of the skirt of one, folding it into a bandana and passing it to Flora.

“This should help. Don’t worry, you get used to the smog.”

Flora gave her a questioning look.

“Let me guess, how long have I been here?” Flora nodded. “Not long, only a few hours, but I can only estimate. This may seem odd, but can I ask you a personal question?”

She hesitated, but nodded again.

“Were you a vault dweller before coming here?”

Flore shook her head ‘no’.

“Oh, sorry….it’s just you have a tan line on your arm.”

Did only vault dwellers possess pip-boys? She shook her head again before pointing at her arm and nodding again.

“So you did…Elijah must have stolen it, the bastard. A map and a clock would have been really helpful here. I’d think he’s trying to disadvantage us on purpose, but I know just how much he wants in that casino.” She sat on the edge of the fountain, and a hologram sprung to life behind her.

It was a woman. _The_ woman—Vera. It was hard to tell because the figure was a solid blue, but the way she held herself matched all the photographs of her that had been strewn throughout the streets and alleyways. But the hologram showed a self-assuredness that the photos never could. It was the way she held herself, hand resting gently on her hip, leaned to the side, and chin slightly raised as if daring the viewer to find a single flaw.

Flora was pulled out of her admiration by an opened can of pork and beans and spoon being thrust in her face.

“Eat up while you can, we need to keep our strength up, especially with the toxins out here.”

Flora took a bite. It was…sour, gritty, and dry. Almost like sand. Christine chuckled watching her try to eat the stuff.

“Sorry, but it’s this or deviled eggs. Things seem to taste worse here than out in the wastes, I think it’s the poison, but in smaller doses. Any luck, and we may build up a resistance to the stuff. But I’m hoping we don’t have to stay here long enough for that.”

They continued in silence except for the low hum of the hologram. Flora could see the occasional ghost sneak about in the shadows beyond the lights of the square. Not brave enough to get close to the hologram starlet that guarded them.

She looked back to Christine, who seemed too lost in thought to notice her staring. She had a very stern face, but was still quite attractive. She looked strong. That jumpsuit hid muscle. Her eyes looked sad, despite the harshness. An aged sadness, something she had lived with for quite some time.

Christine set aside her empty can and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She turned to Flora, the scars on either side of her mouth extenuating the slight smile she gave.

“Aright, Elijah said there were two more people who could help us. One of them is a Super mutant, and the other’s a ghoul, but beggars can’t be choosers. I think to save time, we should split up and each grab one. Which do you want to recruit?”

Flora looked confused, then held up her hands, one on top of the other, separating them vertically and bringing them closer, looking at Christine questioningly.

“…Uh, the super mutant is definitely bigger. I guess you want the ghoul then?”

She hesitated, but nodded.

“Fine. Meet back here so we can plan our next move.”

Flora nodded again, clutching her gun and heading in the direction of the villas. The residential district was full of traps, more so than any of the streets leading up to it. The ghosts, while terrifyingly good at fighting, didn’t seem to have the coherence to set up most of the traps she saw. These were too elaborate, or well hidden. At least twice Flora had nearly gotten a grenade bouquet in the face thanks to a trip wire she almost missed. The smog was even worse here, obstructing her view completely in some areas. Often she was forced to run through clouds of it, trying desperately to find new passages on the other side. She wanted more than anything to be back in the safety of the hologram’s glow. The toxins were thick enough to condense on her hands, getting under her nails. Flora was careful to avoid touching her face any time she had to adjust the bandana Christine had given her.

She ducked into a villa and climbed the stairs, hoping to find more ammo and get above the cloud; her supply was dwindling but the ghosts were endless. But she didn’t find bullets. As she rounded the corner, Flora caught sight of a man, sitting with his back to her overlooking the town’s skyline through a giant hole in the wall. There was an empty seat next to him, and as she got close, she realized his skin was mottled, actually falling off in places.

Would that happen to her?

Without turning, he raised his hand, lazily beckoning her forward.

“Come have a seat, won’t you? You must be quite tired after battling your way up here.”

His voice was quite clear, traveling strongly across the space between them. Hesitantly, she came closer, rounding the chair to do as he said. She tried not to jump when she saw his face. If it was the toxins that did that to him, she wanted to get out of here now more than ever. As she sat down, she instantly regretted it. There was a very familiar lump under the cushion.

“Even with the, shall we say, inclement weather, the Sierra Madre is a beauty, isn’t she?… Almost as lovely as you, darling.”

Flora raised her eyebrow, but of course didn’t say anything.

“Not even a thank you? Or perhaps an ‘I know’? Well, I suppose I’m not surprised…By the way, as polite as it is for a lady to cross her legs when sitting down, I wouldn’t recommend it. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now that the cushion’s just for show. Any sudden movements could end very badly for you. There’s a shortage of good bottoms in the world, I’d hate for the wasteland to lose yours.” The muscle above one eye dipped slightly, and she could tell that he was winking at her from behind the shades.

The situation was more than just a little dangerous, and yet her heart kept beating as it always did. Normally, without any irregularities. Instead, Flora smiled sweetly, resting her cheek in one palm as she leaned closer to him. She looked to him intently, as if to say, “Go on, you have my complete attention.”

He grinned. “Now that’s what I like to hear! Or rather, _not_ hear. Don’t worry, the cloud can’t get us all the way up here. Oh, how I’ve missed a rapt audience. Dean Domino, and the pleasure is yours, I’m sure.”

Flora only continued to smile at him, the bandana hanging around her neck. Even in the baggy jumpsuit, Dean could tell she had the most delicious curves, unlike anything he had seen from other tourists who had come through only to quickly die. But now he was one of the unlucky few. This was his game now, more than ever and the stakes were high.

Dean lit up two cigarettes and passed one to her, knowing that after all his vocals had been through with the ghoulification and the cloud, there wasn’t a damn thing that could harm them now. He admired the way her lips curled around the filter, but the moment was ruined when her eyes bugged out and she choked and coughed on the smoke.

 _‘She must still be hurting from the surgery,’_ he thought, mercifully putting his own out before taking a drag.

“Now I’m not happy about my bow-tie beeping at me any more than you, I’m sure. I want out. Are there more of you? He usually rounds up four or five before starting his little game.”

She nodded, eyes still red from the coughing fit, but otherwise recovering fast. Flora held up four fingers, flipping them up with a flourish before pointing her pinky at him.

“Excellent.” He leaned in, lowering his shades and she was face to face with his cloudy grey eyes, borrowing into her. Even with the missing skin and nose, he was somehow still handsome. Something about the look in his eye and the lilt of his voice.

“Now I don’t know the others, but I like you. You remind me of an old friend. I say we stick together, and whatever happens, we may be able to save each other. Deal?”

Flora knew that was a lie. If one dies, they all died. There was no getting around that. But maybe this man knew something she didn’t. Flora didn’t know how _the_ Dean Domino from before the war was sitting next to her, threatening her with a hot seat. But if he lived this long, he must know a thing or two about survival.

She held out her hand, mouthing her name. Dean took her hand and kissed it, his calloused lips dwelling there for a little too long.

“It seems the pleasure is all mine, Flora.”

 

* * *

 

_He sneered, overlooking the whole scene. Glitter and elegance that was all together gaudy in Dean’s opinion. Give the man a little bit of money from some well-placed yet totally unpredictable investments, and suddenly Sinclair was a changed man. Attempted changed man, anyway. But to Dean, he was still the same timid jumpy little prick he had always been. It was one thing for a man to gain wealth out of sheer luck in Dean’s eyes, but it was quite another to invade another man’s territory._

‘Look at him…fancies himself a little celebrity, the cunt.’ _He noticed Vera walk through the entrance, hanging on the arm of the most disposable plus-one he had ever seen._

‘And speaking of cunts, there’s the bloody queen of them herself.’

 _But as he watched the crowd below him, the singer noticed Sinclair glance at Vera, and her glance back. Then Sinclair looked a bit longer, only for Vera to smile politely, and continue socializing with anyone_ but _him. Downtrodden, despite all the other eligible bachelorettes who had previously been hanging onto his every word, Sinclair sulked to the bar to refresh his drink. Dean smirked at that, waiting for her date to get more Champaign to join Vera on the dance floor._

_“That was quite cruel of you,” he snickered into her ear, holding her close and swaying to the music._

_“Perhaps,” she mused, completely unconcerned. “But now he will be obsessed with me for the rest of the night. Did you see him run away with his tail between his legs like that?”_

_“Like a kicked puppy.”_

_Dean was reminded why they had been an item, if a brief one. They got along about as well as two sociopathic manipulators could._

_“What are you up to, Dean?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Keyes.” He pulled back, in feigned shock at the accusation._

_“Don’t be coy, Deano, it has never suited you. If you’re going to try and use me in some scheme involving Sinclair, I would at least like to be informed.”_

_Dean chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to her neck just in time for her date to see._

_Disposable indeed. He was hardly more than a child, handsome enough, but appearing to have stolen his father’s tux for the night. Growing bright red and wishing to avoid further embarrassment, he pressed the drinks into the hands of a nearby waiter and made his way to the roulette tables._

_“Alright, alright you got me, Vera,” Dean conceded, leading her to the bar. “I know Sinclair from some old parties. He’s had a mighty fall in recent days, but seems to have climbed right back up—got himself a gilded cane, as it were.”_

_“And wouldn’t it just be the worst shame if someone were to snatch that cane?” Vera smiled conspiratorially, allowing herself to be led._


	4. That Old World Glow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features alcohol and drug abuse, as well as some minor domestic violence, so if that isn't your cup of tea, skip the italicized sections <3

The whimpers were like that of a child, even if the voice was old inhuman. As Christine eased around the perimeter of the radio signals, the monsters cries shook her to the very core of her being. She hated the being, or wanted to at least. Scars and fresh wounds littered the beast and a bear trap was latched onto its arm. Chains covered its body and years ago Christine would have blasted it to ash without a second thought. But the whimpering was so pitiable, a part of Christine nearly forgot that this was Elijah’s dog—his plaything. His tortured maniac who did as the old man wished. It was Dog’s fault that she was at such a disadvantage in the first place.

Christine chose to focus her disdain instead on the voice that echoed from her collar. It wasn’t Elijah. She wasn’t sure who it was, but they were the only thing helping her to stay alive and away from the radios that seemed to be hidden more often than not. Did the ghosts do that on purpose? Were they actually self-aware enough to set up traps for food?

 

* * *

 

Dean led her back through the thicker clouds of smoke, arm around her waist as they successfully avoided most of the ghosts under the thick cloud’s protection.

“It’s not so bad for you, in small doses I mean.” He remarked quietly, peaking around the corner while Flora gathered chips from the smaller fountains.

She didn’t quite believe him, but it’s not like Flora could say anything. And even if she could, it would have been cut off by her jumping up and firing two shots into the head of a ghost that was lunging for Dean.

“Fucking hell!” he tried to whisper, but it came out as a harsh growl. “Use a bloody spear next time, you’re going to get us swarmed!”

She shrugged, giving him that strange smile as she continued to saunter off in the direction of the fountain. Dean sneered back, but couldn’t ignore the sway of her hips for long. Even mute, there were certain things about her that just screamed Vera—that arse especially. But it was also her eyes, the way she held herself, and something overwhelmingly unreadable that frustrated him to no end. She fit the part alright. But _he_ was supposed to be the one calling the shots here, and she seemed to be leading him the whole time. Even through the cloud.

 

* * *

 

_Dean knocked on her door. Despite having already moved in with Sinclair, Vera still maintained an apartment in Ultra Luxe so that she could have some semblance of privacy from her rather possessive lover. The Hotel fit her perfectly, or at least, the idea she had of herself. Elegant and perfect. Yes, that is likely how she saw herself, and wanted to be seen as by others. Vera opened the door already beaming with a glass of champagne in her hand._

_“Deano! Come in, I have the best news, come in!”_

_“Don’t I get my hello first?” he growled with a smirk, pulling her into a hungry kiss that she eagerly returned._

_“You weren’t followed?” she ask once Dean finally pulled away._

_“How would I? This place has plenty of security on the bottom floor, doesn’t it?”_

_“Fine fine fine!” Vera pulled him to sit next to her, grabbing a photo album from the coffee table. She was positively radiating excitement, and Dean couldn’t help but feel some of it as well. Terrible actress, but there was no denying the way she seemed to push emotions into people. It was how she had pulled in Sinclair…it was how she pulled Dean, years ago. But that didn’t matter now, she had news._

_“Sinclair sent this to me yesterday,” she said, practically throwing the portfolio open._

_The album was filled with pictures of construction. Villas, market places, and even a casino by the looks of it. Vera pointed excitedly to a photo of a promotional poster. It was a woman beckoning the beholder to join her with the words, “Begin Again at the Sierra Madre Casino and Resort!” plastered across the bottom._

_“That’s me! He’s making a casino_ for me _!” She squealed, taking another sip from her glass. “Do you know what this means?!”_

_“I’ll say so, this means we’ve done it!” Dean exclaimed, having the presence of mind to take her glass and put it on the coffee table before laying her across the fainting couch._

_“Don’t you mean_ I _did it?” she asked with a quirk of her lips._

_“I was the one who introduced you, and I’m here to help once we get into this Madre place. Speaking of, Sinclair is going to need more than one entertainer, I’m sure. Put in a good word for me, will you, Lovely?”_

_Dean kissed her neck as he spoke, lips travelling lower. Dragging her skirt up, he massaged her thighs, sucking on the skin as he got closer and closer to that heaven between her legs. Oh he loved to hear her sing, alright. She wasn’t the best actress, but her voice…it could pull a crowd._

_“Of course…Ah! Dean…” Vera carded her hands through his hair, tugging him closer and squeezing his head. If he suffocated and died this way, Dean would have no qualms. Might even give Saint Andrew a wry wink as he was thrown down to where he truly belonged._

 

* * *

 

They arrived, greeted by Christine and that damn Elijah’s lap dog who were on exact opposite sides of the fountain.

“Ah, it seems the old man is a bit short staffed this for this album.” Dean adjusted his sunglasses. “So is it the lackey or the egomaniac?”

“I’m sure you can guess,” the mutant growled back.

Dean spread his arms in in affected enthusiasm. “Ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for since the New Testament, get ready for the rapture because God is here!”

The performance fell flat and the silence was infuriating for Domino before Christine explained, “This one’s mouthy, but I don’t want him running back to Elijah.”

Flora raised her eyebrow, looking between Christine and “God”.

His returned glare was almost physically painful. “Take a picture.”

Pulling her aside, Christine explained, “Look, mutants can’t be trusted but Nightkin manage to be even worse. They don’t like being looked at, mostly due to a life of stealthboy abuse, but at least they can be reasoned with a little better than most greenies that aren’t part of the first generation.”

This left Flora only more confused, but she nodded anyway.

Dean called them back, not liking Flora getting out of his sight for too long. “Our maestro is here, gather round everyone, gather round.”

“That will be all, Mister Domino.” A booming voice snapped.

Vera had been replaced by a still projection of an old man. God, Dean, and Christine were seething as they glared at him, but Flora was still holding out on the gold so she just smiled faintly and waved.

“It is time for the festivities, and your parts in all of this,” the man named Elijah continued, seeming to speak more to Christine than anyone else. “The only way to get into the Sierra it seems, is to trigger the Gala event—don’t as ask me why. Honestly between an FEV reject, a mute, a ghoul, and… _you_ …let’s just say this batch doesn’t inspire my confidence. But there’s no sense in wasting you. Might as well let you attempt to surprise me; after all, it’s no skin off my nose if you die…and I am a patient man.”

“Cut the crap, Elijah; just tell us where we need to go,” Christine snarled, a stark contrast from the calm she displayed towards Flora. “The sooner we get to the casino, the sooner I can find you and put an end to all of this.”

“Watch your tongue, girl,” he snapped, “Puesta del Sol and Salida del Sol to the West and East respectively. Puesta del Sol is where the switching station and speaker systems are, the fireworks and Event control panel are in Salida del Sol. Figure out among yourselves who will be in charge of triggering what, just get it done.”

Elijah was gone and Vera once more stood before them. As if pulled by a string, each head turned to the others, silently trying to decide which job would involve the lease amount of risk.

“Well…“God”…Seems like we are the odd men out in this little Quartet. What do you say we go to Salida del Sol and get things set up for the ladies?” Dean asked leadingly, knowing how Christine would react.

“Not so fast,” she interjected, and Dean resisted the urge to smirk, “I think I should go with God. You and Flora can take care of things in Puesta del Sol.”

“Why, so there’s a smoothskin to watch each of us?” God sneered. “Or is it because we all know that activating the control panel is the safest job, and you want to guarantee your own survival so you can enact your revenge on the old man?”

“Don’t be stupid; all of us need to live or none of us will,” Christine insisted.

“The switches to activate the fireworks are probably completely rusted out by now. The only one with a chance of being able to turn them on is God. Flora, you can operate the switching station, can’t you?” She avoided God’s first accusation, even though it was dead on. She didn’t trust those…things. And she fully expected them to go plotting for their own benefit if left alone.

“So, what, that just leaves you and I as the odd ones out? Doesn’t require a lot of talent to push a button or turn on a boom box.”

“You’re the musical man, aren’t you? Dean Domino from all the posters? Surely you know that musical accompaniment for the Gala event is more than just a holotape that needs to be thrown into a tape deck.”

Dean knew what she was doing, even if there was no need to do it. _She_ was the one playing into his hands, not the other way around.

“Fine,” he spat. “But how about we let Flora decide who she wants to go with.”

Suddenly all their eyes were on her. It wasn’t like she had been able to have input until that moment. But Flora had caught on to Dean’s little ploy almost immediately. This little choice given to her wasn’t even that: it was a test.

Of course she would pass it. Flora walked to his side, sliding her hand into his. Dean stiffened, not used to contact of any sort that didn’t involve a spear being thrown at him.

“So it’s decided then,” Christine said smugly. “Let’s go, God.”

 

* * *

 

_There was a clatter and the sound of breaking glass on the other side of the door when Dean banged on it. Vera took too long to answer, so he fished out his spare to get in._

_“Deean!” she whined, practically falling off her chair. “I was just about to answer the door, you’re too impatient!”_

_Her words were slurred and it was clear Vera had consumed more than just alcohol. Again._

_“Vera, we have fifteen minutes until rehearsal.” Dean tried to remain calm, but his blood was boiling. It had become harder and harder to manage her since they arrived in the Sierra Madre, especially while keeping their plans a secret from Sinclair._

_“May I ask what’s in the needle that’s stuck in your arm?”_

_“Jus’ a little bit of med-x, darling…I’ve been having some terrible pain lately…”_

_“Bullshit,” he grabbed her by the shoulders, dragging her to the kitchen for some water to clear her head. He would drown her if he knew it would work. “If you’re sick you should be at the clinic, not “self-medicating”.”_

_Dean splashed water in her face, much to Vera’s distress. He hated seeing her this way. Med-x was such a weakness, and she was such a slave to it. She was never this bad when they were together…_

_Suddenly Vera felt herself yanked towards the door._

_“Wh-where are we going at this hour, Deano?” She asked, still disoriented._

_“First, it’s barely ten-thirty. Second, the clinic. I don’t want Sinclair seeing you like this. But for God’s sake, you better learn your songs by this weekend.”_

_“Or what, you’ll tell Sinclair?”_

_His face was inches from hers in an instant, but all Vera could do was giggle senselessly at him._

_“What the_ hell _has gotten into you?!” he hissed, “Do you honestly want to ruin everything when we are so close?”_

_“We? I could have done all of this without you!” She was indignant now, weakly trying to tug her arms out of his grasp._

_“I introdu—”_

_“Introduced like hell! You were just bored and wanting to ruin_ another _life, Domino!”_

_A slap rang out in the room, leaving Vera shocked and clutching her cheek, tears forming in her eyes from the sting and the shock. She was certainly sobered up, now. Dean was breathing heavily before he pinched the bridge of his nose._

_“Put on some make-up. I’m still taking you to the clinic.”_

_She was silent for a moment, clearly scared now. Good. She went back to her room without a word to change. When she returned, she asked meekly,_

_“H-hey, Deano…you won’t really tell Sinclair…will you?”_

_Bingo._

_Dean smirked, clasping her hands in his as he said with sickly sweetness. “Well that all depends on you, dear heart.”_

 

* * *

 

“So this is where I perform.”

Dean looked about. Once again the two found themselves on a roof, but the ghosts were so dense below them, it was a wonder they made it with all their parts still intact. Those monsters must have sensed something was happening—something big. Did the ghosts also have some drive in the back of their heads to get in the Sierra Madre casino? Some faint memory from before the war that promised peace and comfort? Dean and Flora stayed away from the edge, not wishing to egg the monsters on to come chase them or throw something explosive their way.

“Now where is my orchestra?” Dean mumbled, lighting up a cigarette as they looked about.

Flora was the first one to spot the frayed and sparking wires. They connected to a pair of giant speakers, but also ran across the walls, spreading out to the entirety of the resort. Snorting despite herself, Flora couldn’t believe how flawed Elijah’s plan was. Dean came to see what she was looking at, and immediately hissed a string of curses.

“Is he fucking kidding me? Is that bastard is honestly trying to kill me off! Even if I _do_ survive this, who’s to say there isn’t more damage down the line?”

Flora pointed to the sparks flying from both sides; if there was damage, one or both wouldn’t be sparking like that. Taking his arm, Flora traced out the words: _Series_ _current._

 _‘How did I know that?’_ she wondered. Had she been an electrician before getting hired as a courier?

Dean was frozen as she touched him, still very much not used to human contact after two-hundred years of loneliness. He felt his cheeks warm and thanked whatever God was out there—and most certainly not the blue one—that he could no longer blush. The urge to sneer was almost irresistible. It had been far too long since he was a young school boy, even before the damned bombs. There was no reason he should be reacting this way.

“Fine,” he said, softly. “But how the damn am I supposed to keep the guests at bay? Holograms may scare them, but the music will have those blasted things crawling up the walls.”

Flora thought for a moment, looking back out along the horizon. There were two fountains to the north and south of where they stood. Not nearly as big as the one at the entrance, but Flora spied the same sort of device in the center. She walked back inside as Dean watched her in silence. After bypassing the password security, Flora looked through the device controls. The northern hologram was controlled right here, but the other one was controlled by a different terminal. She looked back to Dean, pointing at the screen.

“Yeah…that would work. Where’s the other one, partner?”

She shrugged, re-loading her gun and checking her pockets for extra stims. Signaling for him to wait there, Flora moved out.

The ghosts were already scarcer now, looking at her warily from the shadows but never coming close enough for her to waste bullets. Jumping the roofs became fairly easy, especially in these more tightly packed areas.

Dean watched her from afar; she was practically gliding from building to building. Even in the bulky security uniform she had found earlier, her grace couldn’t be ignored. She ducked into another hole in the wall, only for the second hologram to stutter to life moments later. Flora’s head peaked out, eyeing the hologram to make sure it stayed up. The faint blue glow fell across her pale skin, making her appear almost spectral…and Dean was struck.

They…they were so much alike. And would be even more so soon enough. It was only a matter of time.

Flora joined him again after a few minutes. He could see the traces of lipstick framing her smile and smudges of charcoal about her eyes that looked at him in that way of hers. Dean reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle of water. It was a bit irradiated, but otherwise clean.

“Here, this should help with your throat, partner,” he said, unable to thank her for making sure he was safe.

Flora gave the bottle an odd look, but cracked it open, taking a few sips. Those eyes scanned his face and Dean swore she could see right through his sunglasses. Setting down the bottle, Flora licked her lips. Reaching out with fingers that were too damn soft for the wasteland, she traced his jaw and the corner of his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. Scarred flesh and exposed muscle clenched and twitched in his neck, yet still he didn’t move away, didn’t question. His eyes fell shut with the hypnotic warmth. They only flew open again when she kissed him. Lips like silk moving like the water across his own calloused and chapped ones. A sigh as her tongue peeked out; she didn’t ask for entrance, but simply lingered there, tasting his skin. There was no look of revulsion in her hooded eyes. She was completely unreadable. Backing away after what felt like an eternity, Flora took his hand and traced out: _Be careful_.

After that, she was gone.

More than the cloud seemed to choke him now. It was never supposed to be this way—just like before.

 

* * *

 

Christine tried to lead the way despite God clearly knowing the resort better. She was merely a tourist in his eyes, hardly worth his time. God may have lived in the Sierra for a time, but he had experienced plenty of the Brotherhood, and heard even more from Elijah through his ramblings.

After a particularly harsh fight with a group of ghosts, the two rested and licked their wounds under the comforting glow of a hologram. God glanced out of the corner of his eye to spy Christine glaring at him, spear in hand as she waited for the radaway drip to empty.

He scoffed, “Typical…”

“Excuse me?” Christine, with just as much menace as her stance had suggested.

“You Brotherhood can’t seem to give it a rest. I used to work under the Master, and even I’m not so brainwashed as you.”

“The Master lead slaves, the Brotherhood is nothing like he was!” Christine bite back. The Brotherhood had their problems—big problems, but… “We would never enslave anyone, and at least we are doing some good for the fallen world.”

“Is that so? Before I was trapped here, the few Brotherhood who didn’t try to kill my kind on sight still maintained the opinion that if they were fighting some great holy war. You people never even try to learn of the world outside your bunkers, do you? If you see something old and shiny, regardless of the consequences or loss life, your people will do everything in your power to take it, won’t you.”

“It is not our fault that the world has become overrun with abominations like yourself, freak.”

God would have laughed, if that would not attract even more undesirable guests. “For someone who hoards artifacts of the past you sure don’t know much about the era to which they belong. Two hundred years ago, it is you who would have been called the abomination...oh yes, Elijah has rambled plenty in regards to you and your preferences.”

Taking great pleasure in the sudden change in her visage, God continued, “In Mexico there was a place called the Yucatan. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Christine was relieved at a change in topic. She didn’t like to be reminded of why she was thrown from the Brotherhood’s ranks.

“Colonizers—or so they like to call themselves—arrived on the shores of what they believed was a new land. The invaders pulled an indigenous man away from his people, demanding a name for the land. After some hesitation the man replied, ‘Yucatan’. From then on, the colonizers called it so, pillaging and raping the land and its people in the name of their own God. Do you know what Yucatan means?”

Christine was silent.

“’I do not understand’. The Brotherhood may rationalize their actions in the name of some ‘greater good’ but your victims will only ever see thieves in old world armor, completely oblivious to the true suffering of the world.”

She was silent still, but Christine could no longer look him in the eye.

“…Let’s get moving.” She said at last.

At last they arrived at the breaker station, and it only took a few moments for them both to realize that in order to prevent the ghosts from attacking God, he would need to be locked in. He would get hungry during that time.

“Maybe after we rendezvous back at the casino, I can play back the holotape of your voice again—”

“Forget it. I need food to hold me off. I’m not going back in that cage.”

Christine was taken aback. She hadn’t actually seen him eat yet, but why would she expect he didn’t need to?

“I can’t exactly spare you my rations, maybe if we collect enough tokens from the fountains…” Her voice trailed off, knowing that that plan would take far too long, and put them in too much danger. She also realized that wasn’t what he meant.

God sneered. “The ghosts aren’t fresh, but they _are_ preserved.”

Blood running cold, Christine took a moment to fully process what he had said.

“Then again…you could always _make_ me go back in my cage…but that would make you no better than Elijah…wouldn’t it?”

Swallowing the thick burning tar that had suddenly formed in her throat. Christine muttered, “He’s the real monster here. More I’d say, even than you. Will three bodies be enough?”

“Plenty.”

 

* * *

 

First would come the pre-recorded announcement. Then the fireworks. After that, it would be up to _him_ to keep the wires connected all while Ve—…Flora keeps all the power directed towards the gala event. Hopefully it would be enough to pry those damn doors open.

Dean crushed his fifth cigarette with the heel of his shoe. There was no better method, but he hated being dragged into the show. He’d much rather watch from his balcony seat…like he used to. Like a grand aristocrat, watching the prisoners of war get slain and eaten by the wild animals in the colosseum below.

The echo of her lips ghosted through his mind, causing Dean to touch his mouth without realizing. He could still feel her there, taste her. Warmth seemed to linger, spreading from where she had touched him.

She was so fresh…and new…newer than Dean had had in a long time, even before the bombs.

Like a fresh Vera.

And the way her hair fell about her cheeks, the full curve of her lips as they puckered around a cigarette. And those legs…not exactly long, but they led to a little juncture he wished to be far more acquainted with than this blasted resort.

He would like to see a nice dress around those legs. Something that flowed, but was tight in all the right places. All of Flora’s places were all the right places…

Dean shook his head. _‘Fool me once, shame on her…Fool me twice…’_

But they weren’t the same, wasn’t that the whole point?

The point of what?

Suddenly the sky was filled with the last voice he wanted to hear right now. Vera’s.

_Everyone, please may I have your attention -- guests and residents of the Villa alike. I ask you to step outside and look to the night sky, it's the moment you've been waiting for, the reason we're all here. The Gala Event, the grand opening of the Sierra Madre Casino, you are the ones who have made this momentous occasion possible, and for that we thank you. So raise your glass in celebration, let music fill the streets. Fireworks light the sky and promise of new beginnings fill your hearts. No matter what your fortune, no matter what your cares -- let go this night and begin again. I suggest you hurry, though; the gates of Sierra Madre are open but only for a brief time. After that the doors will close for the evening's festivities and won't open again till morning._

Dean practically dived for the wires holding them at the ready like a pair of cymbals. As soon as the thunder cleared, so came the lightning. A kaleidoscope of boom and crackle and the cloud got a little finer with all old world glamor, however brief. Just before they cleared, Dean pressed the two ends together, trying to ignore how stiff his arms became, and how much faster his heart began to beat as the electricity coursed through the wires and partially through him. Flora was taking care of the rest.

Suddenly, silence. Darkness. Soon all that was left was the hologram starlets, posing in their most winning fashion…until they too flickered out.

A string of swears escaped him in a breath, and true panic replaced it. They would come. Somehow, even though they were as old as he, their eyes had only grown sharper; finely tuned to hunt—to search for even the slightest movement. The air didn’t move here. Nothing moved unless it was alive…or dead.

Dean hastily reloaded his gun, getting it cocked and ready as he followed the path Flora had taken before him. Jumping across the roofs and balconies was hard on Dean’s knees and ankles, but he ignored the pain when he heard the ghosts growl and skulk beneath him. He nearly tumbled when he fell to the filthy tiled ground before the double doors that separated Puesta del Sol from the rest of the resort. They were harder to open now, more than ever before. The cloud pressed deeper into his lungs.

The possibility of freedom made the poison that clung to his mottled skin feel so much more violating, but the resort became a maze and without the lights to guide him, Dean felt lost. At last he passed the giant fountain in the center square. Even that one was lacking in lovely glowing starlets.

But he didn’t care. The fear of death was very real in Mister Domino. More than it had ever been, even when the first bombs fell. Even before that…

_She was a nervous wreck now. None of the other cast spoke to her, hardly. Too afraid to set off her hysterics, he imagined. Sinclair—concerned for what she had vehemently insisted was bronchitis, had given Vera her own personal robotic doctor, to shower her with uppers and downers whenever she pleased. Ever since that it had been moved to her room, Dean only had brief chances to meet with her in the changing rooms. Vera would nod or shake her head when Dean prodded her about her progress, but spoke very little._

_She only sang on stage, now. The few private moments they had that weren’t spent conniving often involved Dean taking her over a desk or against the wall while Vera shuddered, the occasional moan escaping her lips. She always came—Dean was nothing if not a gentleman—but she no longer gave him that little solo he always liked to hear. He couldn’t seem to help himself these days. There was such a stark difference between now and back before the Sierra Madre idea had even been conceived. She used to be loud, but charming…now she was just quite._

_“Sinclair will be here in a few minutes to wish me luck before rehearsal.” She said quietly, wiping her legs off with a handkerchief he had lent her before dabbing her face and shoulders with a napkin and spritzing on a little perfume._

_Her eyes were kept down. She rarely looked him in the eye anymore, but Dean never noticed, or refused to notice._

_“Fine, I’ll make myself scarce.” He said, although he wanted to say ‘hand Sinclair!’_

_“Is the auto-doc working for you?” Dean added the last bit, and for the first time in weeks, Vera actually looked up at him, slight surprise flashing across her face._

_“I wouldn’t want that lovely voice of yours to be ruined before our finale.” He continued, fixing his tie in the mirror._

_“…Yes it has…its working just fine.” She looked back down, differently this time, as if she didn’t quite get the response she had expected or hoped for._

_Dean ignored the snappy tone. When this was all over, he might take a trip to the Bahamas. Maybe if he stayed away long enough, he might see whatever it was that was appealing about Vera when they first started dating. Just looking at her now gave him a bitter taste in his mouth. A bitter taste he couldn’t seem to quit._

_“Good. When Sinclair actually manages to gather the balls to propose to you, make sure you have some eye drops on hand. Your crocodile tears were never very convincing—on or off the stage…I’ll even talk to him for you; Get the ball rolling and whatnot.”_

_“Don’t you think that’s going a little too far? I thought we were just gonna get the money…”_

_Dean waved his hand dismissively. “You don’t have to marry the bastard, just say ‘yes’ to the proposal!”_

_“Don’t call him that.” There was a bite to her tone._

_“Ooh? Getting soft are we? You know you’re supposed to trap the lion, not feel for it.” He mocked._

_“Stop it!” She was almost shrill now. “He’s a nice man, he doesn’t deserve the way you treat him!”_

_“Or the way_ you _treat him?” he shot back, “Don’t forget your part in all of this. Wasn’t it a week ago that you claimed I did nothing, and all the genius came from you? Don’t fool yourself, Keyes; you’re as much a part of this as I am.”_

_He stepped closer, and with each step she backed away until Dean was towering over her and she was shrinking into the couch._

_“And just as you are a part of this, you can’t just quit whenever you feel like it.”_

_“Why. Not?_

_“Because Sinclair hates me. I’m used to it. But I don’t think you could bear for him to hate you.”_

_“…he would forgive me.” She said, but unsure of her words._

_“Would he? He’s a powerful man, dear. A powerful man with a powerful temper—you’ll see. Who could ruin everything. Your career, your reputation—you’d never work in Hollywood again…And if he didn’t, I would.”_

_The atmosphere was thick between them, and Vera was the first to blink._

_“A proposal…If that’s what you think will work,” she said, barely above a sigh, and at last Dean moved back._

_The tapping of her nails as they strummed across the counter became too aggravating. Dean left her to wallow in whatever thoughts pooled in that shallow little pond she called a head. He hated to see her pout, but sometimes just looking away wasn’t quite enough._

Dean burst through the gates, slamming and locking them shut behind him. Even with that checkpoint cleared, he didn’t stop running up the thousands of stairs that led to the casino, never looking back until the doors to the casino were shut behind him.

They had done it…truly, the plan worked!

Panting and trying to catch his breath, Dean finally had the chance to look about the luxury untouched for hundreds of years. But it was spoiled by the three bodies lying before him. God’s, Christine’s, and…

“Vera!” Dean ran for Flora, but the gas took him first.

He had already breathed in too much; it was a wonder he stayed conscious for as long as he had.

The holograms dragged the burglars away.

 


	5. In Memory of Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first section of this chapter is where the non-con starts.
> 
> I should also warn there is alcohol abuse later on.

After a long bath in a tub full of freshly boiled water, Vulpes felt completely refreshed. It had taken many slaves and quite a while to get enough water boiling, but in his mind it was well worth it. The heat soothed his muscles to the core. Most of the men in Caesar’s Legion were not allowed such a luxury and even those who were considered it something that would only serve to make them weaker. But Vulpes Inculta saw past such silly thoughts. He knew that the primary reason most thought this way was because the Legate refused to bathe at all. Often it was only the rain that cleansed him of the blood and mud that would have otherwise continued to cake him. His three wives were often seen with dirt covering their bodies the morning after Lanius returned from a mission, running to the baths to get clean.

Vulpes missed the gentle scrub of a coarse brush, the warmth from hands untouched by combat and war, and rivulets of water trickling through tapered fingers to rinse the soap from his head. The stir in his loins only served as a reminder that he would be getting just that in the coming days, but Vulpes had wished to be clean before greeting his new wife. Caesar had been pleased with his scouting mission and the destruction of Nipton. He didn’t know about Flora, however. Not yet. For now, that was Vulpes’ little secret and special fascination coupled with memories that helped to entertain his mind and body during the nights that were too quiet for his liking.

Getting out before his skin would have the chance to prune, Vulpes dried off and adorned himself with maize oil. He scraped the excess off with something resembling a long, narrow, and curved wooden spoon before pouring it all into an empty vial and setting it outside his tent for a slave to collect. And now he would wait, as was custom any time Caesar deemed a gift was due. He would remain in his tent until the woman was brought to him by one of the centurions. From there he could inspect her to be sure she was untouched. Then, regardless of whether she was to his liking, he would have to accept her. It he liked her she would be his wife in all ways and if not, she would make herself useful through other pursuits.

As the sound of two pairs of feet approached his tent, Vulpes positioned himself in the center of his moderate living space, fully clothed in his frumentarii armor, sans wolf cowl. The woman that was pushed through the tent flap was beautiful in all respects. Her skin had an umber glow even in the dim candle light that reflected off of her skin like gold.

After a brief stumble, she regained her footing, moving to stand straight. She was quite tall—only an inch or two shorter than himself. There was a proud look in her eye; her shoulders didn’t shake but her hands did. She may have been afraid, but she did well hide it. Her eyes were grey, her hair had been recently buzzed—the sign of a new slave. Her body was far too skinny, but that was expected with slave girls or any woman living a hard life in the Mojave.

All and all she was a lovely gift. He stepped closer, circling her and checking for any hidden weapons. Part of being a frumentarius meant your women were never touched, but that also meant any potential risks needed to be taken care of personally. She stiffened, hissing when he pushed two fingers between her folds, and then one in her ass. All too recently, Lucius had nearly been killed by a new wife because she had smuggled a wrapped blade. From then on, the searches became more thorough, and her body had been mounted before the slave tents as a warning.

Once he was satisfied, Vulpes brought his hands up to her collar. Siri nearly jumped out of her skin, but stayed still as a statue while he fiddled with it until it was looser. Before, it had been difficult just to swallow, the compression on her windpipe a constant reminder of who she was now…what she was to these men.

“…Thank you, sir.”

“You can use the tub to wash yourself,” he said, disregarding her appreciation. His tone was much softer than she expected by the way her eyes widened slightly.

He smiled to himself as she turned to obey him. There was no need to scare her. Wives where always the most difficult when they were too often reminded of their place.

Carefully, she stripped herself before him, before climbing into the tub. The water was still a little warm and her shoulders lost some of their stiffness. He sat next to her on a small stool, watching her face as she cleaned herself in a businesslike fashion.  
  
“What’s your name?”

“Siri, sir.”

He didn’t like that. It was harder for them to soften up when they didn’t say his name. It made things harder for himself as well. Even if it was a false name when on mission, he liked for it to be used.

He waited until she was out of the tub and sitting in his bed before he stated, “I would prefer that you call me Vulpes when we are alone.”

Prefer. He had given her a choice. If he forced her to use his name, it would only become a curse on her lips. Choice was important. This way, eventually she might grow to trust him—depend on him emotionally as well, someday.

Once she was clean, he led her to the bedding.

He leaned forward to kiss her. She kissed back with obedience, but the stiffness was back. Easing his hand up her leg, Vulpes admired her skin. It was softer than he expected. It reminded him of…

He stood up, grabbing a fresh jar of oil. Pouring some onto his hands, the frumentarius came to rest before her. He rubbed circles into the flesh of her inner thigh. She seemed to relax more despite herself, watching him with a silent curiosity as his hands drew closer and closer to that most lovely place at her center. His thumb touched her bud, rubbing in small circles and spreading the oil across her folds.

Siri’s scent teased his nose, and Vulpes inhaled deeply. It was different than Flora, but it was not unpleasant. As he leaned closer, her hand stopped him, putting gentle pressure on his scalp.

“…What are you doing?” she asked quietly. Her voice only registered as low and sultry to his ears, despite how she must have been feeling in this moment.

“It is our wedding night…in a sense. Let me graze you with my lips… after all, those hills are by no means dry.” He pressed a kiss into the corner of her inner thigh, sucking the supple flesh as Siri sighed and melted a bit more into the bedding. Her legs spread as he drew closer to her slit, his nose brushing ever so gently against her folds.

“So eloquent…that was Shakespeare, even if it was liberally paraphrased.”

Vulpes paused, more than a little impressed. As a reward, he went directly for her bud again, burying his face deeper into her cunt as her sweet honey intoxicated him further. This was far better than he expected. If any of the men outside these four canvas walls found out about what he was humbling himself to…well, there would be quite a few deaths in the arena and none of them would be him.

Siri’s thighs began to shake, but she kept them wide. Her moans and whimpers were almost as delicious as the wine he drank from her. Her hand had stayed, and now it stroked and grabbed desperately at his short hair as Siri grew closer and closer to her end. It was not a bang, but a whimper that had her coming against his skilled lips. She fell limp against the sheets as Vulpes climbed up to join her, licking the salt from her flesh.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, trying to catch her breath with her eyes cast down.

“I like your eyes, don’t hide them from me. You must be very well read, knowing Shakespeare.” He avoided the question.

“I was a doctor. The legion…saved me from an NCR platoon headed for Camp Forlorn Hope.” She chose her words carefully, and he respected that. She was quite intelligent for a woman. “I was to provide medical aid until one of your raiding parties intercepted us. I suppose I’m lucky…everyone else was killed.”

Vulpes traced her thigh as he spoke. “You could be very lucky if you play your cards right. My last wife died because I made the mistake of trying to bring her along on one of my jobs outside the Fort, but she was not otherwise mistreated. You are safe here, even with that collar, and no one will touch you but me unless they wish to die by my hands. But these hands can be very gentle, as I’m sure you know now.

You said you were a doctor? Keep your head down and prove your compliance, and in a week I can convince the mighty Caesar to let you provide medical care to his men.”

Siri searched his eyes with suspicion. He was being honest, but even if he was lying she wouldn’t be able to tell. “And what will it cost me…Vulpes?” she asked.

He smiled when she willingly used his name. He leaned in to trace her ear with his tongue before whispering, “Lie with me. Willingly be mine and you will live not only in safety, but in comfort.”

“Why are you doing this? I know how the Legion treats their “wives”. I’ve personally cared for the runaways.” She dropped some of the careful speech she had used before, but Vulpes didn’t mind.

“I engage in combat enough out there, I don’t wish to in here where I’m supposed to replenish myself for the next battle.”

That seemed to be enough for Siri because after a moment to think, she raised herself to settle on his armored lap, easing his pterugres up about his waist to find his length otherwise uncovered. Her hand was like velvet as it circled and pumped him, bringing him tall. He would not be taking his armor off tonight, but perhaps sooner than he originally expected. Her body was already long ready for him, even if her heart wasn’t, and she made quick work of lining their sexes up. Plunging down, Siri gasped, eyes falling shut and furrowed as she ground slowly against him. Vulpes let her take the lead, supporting her hips and meeting her rhythm. He wasn’t used to letting the woman take control of his pleasure, but the frumentarius found he liked it quite a lot…the taste of her still sweet on his tongue as she rode his cock making the most lustful noises all the while. Drawing his hand up her back, Vulpes pulled her closer to lavish her breasts. His bites were gentle but enough to make Siri moan just a little louder, her dull nails digging into his armor as she tried to keep hold of him and grind harder and faster.

The patrols that would be passing his tent would be getting quite an earful, especially on a windy night like this where the songs of grasshoppers carried far. Vulpes could hear the screams, cries, grunts, and yelps of other women in other tents, Siri must have as well, no wonder she was so stiff initially.

He didn’t see the point in forcing himself on his wives; they lasted longer when he was kinder, after all. He had no sick fetishes like the Legate, nor did he find pleasure in the pain of bedfellows like Antony. There was plenty of blood to sate him on the battlefield, it was wasted at home.

His lips rose to meet hers. Vulpes swallowed her moans as Siri came in a rush, shuddering tighter and tighter around him until he joined her in bliss. Despite her loose limbs, Siri stilled as his cum filled her, dripping thickly as his flaccid cock slipped from her body.

Vulpes took a few minutes to catch his breath getting up with a groan and grabbing a set of leather cuffs from a chest on his side of the bed. There was a stiff rod that kept the two cuffs about a foot and a half apart. He locked the chest up tight after the withdrawal, turning to Siri with a tone of apology that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Just a technicality, I’m afraid. To make sure you don’t strangle me in my sleep. At least they aren’t metal. There are some who would have less consideration for such pretty wrists as yours.”

Siri only nodded, using the blanket to wipe the sweat from her forehead before holding out her wrists so he could he could restrain them.

In the darkness of night, long after the lamps had been extinguished, Vulpes could feel the covers shift slightly. Siri wasn’t getting up…just fidgeting, it seemed.

The next day when Siri was put to work healing the wounded slaves and preparing medicinals for them, Vulpes found his cum on the sheets. Far more than if it had just dripped out naturally. There were swipes of it in several places. She must have been fingering the stuff from her cunt after she thought he was asleep.

88888888888888888888888888888’

The sheer pain in her cranium was enough to bring Christine back to the world of the living, sitting up with a groan in the lobby of the Sierra Madre hotel and casino. It was all choking dust and shadows as her eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkness only for lights to flicker on, temporarily blinding her. A single hologram, Vera, stood before her on the stairs. The blue figure didn’t acknowledge Christine, but the former brotherhood member knew she was being sensed. The lights and other technologies must track movement and save power that way.

Even up here the faint tang of cloud clung to her palate. That didn’t make any sense…

The second and third floors down in the vista were mostly free of the toxics, heavy as they were; how did it manage to follow them up here?

Christine jumped as the speakers spoke to her in that voice she hated so deeply.

“Good, you’re awake. Funny that the holograms lasted as long as they did when the system was shocked. They must run on an independent generator. Luckily, so do the speakers,” the former elder rambled to himself as Christine got to her feet, her face scrunching in pain as vertigo hit her like a crashing vertibird.

“Welcome to the Sierra Madre, Miss Royce. Did you ever think you would see such pre-war opulence in your lifetime? The Brotherhood would just ruin it all if they were here. I know you’re different than them; you can appreciate such beauty as this without the desire strip it. This place needs to be controlled, yes…but not ruined.” Elijah seemed lost again, forgetting her in his intoxication with the glamor of a world long dead.

“No matter,” he continued, “It’s time to wake this place up. The treasure is still locked up, it seems. Be careful of the holograms, you may be dressed like security, but they seem to be able to tell people apart and they were certainly authorized to use deadly force long ago.”

Christine sneered but didn’t say anything, more concerned about her fellow thieves, particularly Flora. She seemed so new to everything. The woman had insisted she wasn’t a vaultie, but Christine couldn’t think of any other possible explanation. How did she not even know what a ghoul was?

She didn’t give a damn about Domino, but Christine couldn’t help but be a little concerned for God. He must have been knocked out too…who would she find when she found him, God or Dog?

Christine did as Elijah commanded, as much as it killed her inside. But for now she would have to continue to play to his tune until she had the chance to personally wring his neck. The fantasy almost distracted her from his next barked order. Almost.

“Alright. Dog seems to have overcome God for the time being, so you might as well put down the ghoul. He’s holed up in the theater and surrounded himself with an audience of holograms…typical. Kill him, won’t you?”

“And why should I do anything you say?” she shot back.

“You have so far,” he chuckled, adding “And if you don’t, do you really think he would spare you the same courtesy?”

_‘No…he wouldn’t. But he might for Flora.’_

 

* * *

 

It hurt before, but this was pure torture. Her throat was on fire, it felt like it was still gaping open despite the ragged scar that kept her wound shut. She was scared to touch it, worried the stitches would pop open any second.

Flora had woken up in an old but luxurious suite. When she looked out the window, all she could see within the gates of the Sierra Madre was red cloud. In the distance, she could faintly see just…wasteland. Where was she?

Flora tried the door. It wouldn’t budge so she explored the rest of the room. It was Vera’s, alright. Chems, alcohol, and aged finery littered the room. She had nearly jumped out of her own skin when she woke up face to face with a skeleton in an evening dress. When she screamed, it was like her neck was being sawed off.

She coughed at the reminder, looking back to the former starlet still slumped in the corner. There were voices in the distance, desperate and scared. Pressing her ear to the door, Flora could just make out:

“Sinclair? Sinclair! I’m trapped! Please, oh god…”

“I’m so sorry Sinclair…”

“Let go? Let go of what?”

“I’m going to die in here…”

“Vera—!” Flora gasped, clutching her throat. That voice…her voice, _‘My voice…’_

“A-aaaaah?” she tested her voice, and it steadily became smoother. She looked through the suite bar and found some flat mineral water. It tasted terrible, but helped.

Hours seemed to pass, and Flora continued to circle the suite, looking for exits. There was an elevator behind a locked terminal, but no matter what code she tapped in, the lift refused to respond.

“Come on you…” she muttered, typing away at the keys. “Open sesame and all that…Begin again? Let go?”

A light on the terminal blinked yellow, catching her eye.

“Interesting…”

Looking down at her clothes, Flora winced. They were covered in the stain of the cloud residue. There was a shower that seemed to work fine, but no change of clothes. She looked to the bedroom. Well, one change of clothes. Technically all the clothes in the wasteland were worn by corpses at one point, at least this dress was black so whatever rotted bloodstains there were wouldn’t show too much.

Oddly enough, it was completely clean. The holograms must have changed and cleaned her dress at some point. Which meant the door was locked, but only to her. Still trapped, but at least she had clean clothes.

Ten minutes later she was drying off her hair and pinning it up with bobby pins from the dresser. She looked in the mirror, running her hands along the front of the dress. Fit like a glove. If it weren’t for the skeleton in the corner, and the exploding collar around her neck, Flora might have forgotten the times she lived in. She jumped when the doorknob jiggled. It was Christine.

“Took you long enough,” Flora quipped, but smiled all the same. She didn’t bother asking how Christine got in. There must be a terminal on the other side. “Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey aged two-hundred years at least.”

“You…can talk.” Christine took the glass but didn’t drink any.

“Well yeah, I wasn’t born mute, you know that. The holograms took me here, for some reason. I guess because I was the only one missing vocal cords? I have a theory for why, but now’s not the time. We got in, what now?”

“I wish I could say, but first I need you to get to Dean. I trust you…and God for some reason, but Domino is a loose cannon, and might try to kill the rest of us if he gets the chance.”

Flora cocked her eyebrow. “Surely that can’t be true.”

“You got me. He seems to have a soft spot for you. Do you think you can take care of him quietly?”

“I don’t like killing…” Flora looked down, shoulders caving as she affected innocence.

“Well, do something! Our enemy here is Elijah, and we need to find him! I can’t waste any more time…”

“About that…” Flora led her to the elevator. “I think this goes down to whatever treasure the Sierra Madre is holding. But it’s encrypted. Dean knew Vera; he might know how to get in.”

Christine crossed her arms, thinking. Wasn’t the best plan, but what more could they do for now? And there was still Elijah…

“Fine…I’ll go find God and we’ll meet back here to figure things out from there.”

 

* * *

 

Dean was on his twelfth cigarette, looking about the dressing room of his last partner. Holograms prowled the audience, and since no one else had come, it was likely he would die here. The rest were probably already dead. The tourists always died, eventually. Between his dressing room and Vera’s there was enough alcohol to perhaps die comfortably. He grabbed a holotape from her desk, putting it in a nearby player. Her soft voice helped ease him into bliss.

_“Begin again…In the night. Let’s sway again… tonight…”_

He was a bottle in, cursing his ghoulish resistance to chems and alcohol when the room began to sway, finally. He settled into the chair, noticing the med-x and psycho cocktail taped to the bottom of Vera’s make-up counter.

“Her favorite combo…” He reminisced, surely it would be honoring her memory, to die the way she would wish to go. The way she likely did.

“Come on, Deano, chems are beneath you.”

She…she was just there. Leaning against the doorway with that same smile. Hair same as it always had been, with a gaudy fake flower pinned to the front.

“Vera…I’m so sorry…” Dean reached under his sunglasses to wipe the trace of tears away. “I ruined you. You used to be so fresh faced, trying to be a star…so pristine and pure.”

“Oh honey…” The warmth on his lap caused Dean to open his eyes again. It was Flora…not Vera… “I was never pure. Ever been skull fucked by a nine millimeter?”

“How did you get past the holograms?” Dean groaned under his breath, not questioning the lips tracing his cheekbone.

“Oh come on. I ran through ghosts to get here. Holograms couldn’t keep me away. Christine is meeting us back at Vera’s suite, but I think we have time…”

The alcohol was wearing off from the sheer shock of seeing Vera, then Flora. “Time for what? What are you doing? I could understand if I was younger…much younger, not that I’m missing the important parts.”

“Well that’s good to know.” Ve-Flora purred, rolling her hips against his now as she eased his shades off. “You have lovely eyes.”

Vera used to say the same thing…

_“Like a fog before the dawn.” She giggled fondly as he squeezed her hips in the cramped closet they had fled into in the middle of a party._

_“Well keep your head clear, my dear, you won’t want to miss any of this…” Dean growled against her ear, hand sliding up the far too high slit of her skirt._

“Oh, _fuck_!” Dean hissed.

Flora loosened her grip slightly, thumb rubbing circles against his tip. “Don’t have a heart attack on me, cutie. I don’t think I can get away fast enough before your bow tie goes off.”

_“Just take me already!” Vera whined before kissing him passionately, grinding against his fingers urgently. Her entire body tensed, trying to stay quiet, or at least not as loud as the hubbub just outside the door._

_“Oh, you’ll get yours…but I need a little incentive, I think. “Dean chuckled against her lips, easing her to her knees._

“Wait, wait!” Dean stopped her, flipping their positions and easing to the floor, bad knees be damned. “Just keep talking, Vera!”

Flora’s grin was a mile wide, setting her thighs on his shoulders and leaning into the moth eaten cushions.

_Vera moaned around his cock, choking slightly against his impatient thrusts. It wasn’t often that he kept up with the same skirt. Guess his bachelor days were over, at least for now._

_“Alright, alright, now…”_

“Come here,” Flora commanded, pulling him up by his collar and throwing him onto the couch.

Dean watched Flora push down her top in awe. Even without the dress or voice, the resemblance was uncanny, surely she must somehow be related to

“Vera…” he continued to hiss, rolling his hips to meet every drop of her.

“You can call me Vera all you want, just—”

_“Don’t stop, Deano, yes!” Vera clung to his tuxedo, legs clamped around his waist as he fucked her mercilessly against the wall._

She was an angel, her bliss echoing against the walls. Even the scars she surely collected from the wastes and ghosts seemed to vanish before his eyes as they each drew closer to that few moments of rapture.

_Vera panted against his shoulder. “Oh Dean...I think…I love you.”_

_She whimpered as he slip out of her, equally spent and straightening his tux. “We should get back to the party, sweetheart.”_

_“You’re gonna make me a star, right? Bigger than Rosey Horton?”_

_“Of course, Vera, sweetheart. Biggest star in the sky.”_

He watched her shudder and squeeze around him through hooded eyes. His sore knees were forgotten, the danger of ghosts breaking into the casino, as well. He wished to be the sweat that raced down her breasts—he hated the flush of her cheeks because he could never be that close to her.

She wasn’t Vera, but she was close. Maybe this time he could do better. Give her what she deserved…

Flora breathed a sigh of relief, climbing off of him and fixing her dress. It was close…really close to feeling right, but just not there. What was she even looking for, anyway?

“We should join Christine and God.”

“Uh, yeah…right.” Dean started fixing his clothes too.

 

* * *

 

“That damned mutant is at it again! Seems he’s forgotten why we are even here, because he wants to blow the place up. He’s filling the kitchen with gas and refuses to listen to me. Getting knocked out must have…done something to him. All he does is mutter to himself.”

“Must be torture to have to listen to someone go on and on.” Christine said under her breath, but the threat was real. If even Dog was beyond Elijah’s control, then was he beyond reason? Had the insanity that plagued all nightkin finally gotten to him?

There was a time not too long ago that Christine would not have hesitated to put her laser sights right between his eyes. But hesitation was a possibility, now. She didn’t want to hurt him, and would not be looking forward to it should it come to that.

Christine shouldn’t have been surprised that there were more radios here. Nowhere was safe. Any minute they could die, even after coming farther than any of Elijah’s past lab rats. And yet he still refused to de-activate their collars.

It was concern more than anything that had her racing through the restaurant, searching for the kitchen in that maze of a casino. Concern for herself, and Flora of course…but Christine knew she would also mourn God’s death.

She finally came to the kitchen, keeping low as she peeked around the many counters to see the nightkin pacing and whimpering, even more than the first time she met him. Only now, both were in pain. Great pain.

“Please…help me help you. Help _us_.” “No more God…no more pain…”

The place was thick with the smell of gas. No doubt a spark would blow the kitchen sky high.

They were facing away from her when Christine finally stepped out, arms raised slightly. “Are you there God, it’s me Christine…”

“M-Master!?...no…saw you at police station. Helped put Dog in cage…”

“That’s right, Dog. I did that because you were hurting yourself. I don’t want to see you suffering. Neither of you.” She stepped a little closer, eyes darting to the tiny lighter in his giant hand.

“You need to get away! He’s too strong. W-Won’t…listen to me.” God struggled to make his voice heard, arm shaking as if trying to give her the lighter.

“Don’t go. Dog hungry. If you run, I’ll chase you,” Dog growled.

“Dog, stop! Don’t make master mad!” Christine commanded, backing up slightly.

“M-master mad? No, what does Master want?”

They seemed to calm slightly, but that control was quickly thinning.

“I know what you’re going through, I do,” Christine insisted, moving until there was at least a counter between them. “To have your mind in turmoil, destroyed by others. I’m so sorry, but you have to focus. Focus on me, on my voice.”

Christine had often done this in the Big Empty, when the chaos was fresh. She had pictured—fantasized, more like—her and her love. Just…happy. Together. Living somewhere far away. Away from Elijah, the Sierra Madre, and the whole damn Brotherhood. Somewhere with plenty of sunlight. The way her hair would shine with flecks of amber always made Christine’s heart flutter.

They did as she asked, watching her mouth as she spoke.

“I want you to picture yourself before a lake. There are trees giving you plenty of shade. There’s a slight breeze, and it feels amazing against your skin. Now, step towards the water. What do you see?”

“I see…Dog.”

“Good. Who else do you see?” She stepped back around the counter now, drawing closer, slowly circling them as her words filled their mind.

“I see…God.” Still Dog’s voice, but there was a hint of God’s tone.

“Side by side?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, close your eyes.”

They did and she carefully slipped her hand into his, pulling away the lighter. They let her take it.

“Dog, God, You are not two people. But you aren’t one person either. You depend on each other, help each other. One can’t live without the other. Open your eyes. Who do you see? Who _are_ you?”

“You…you were there the whole time…but always speaking in halves…” The voice was different now.  “I…I’m wounded. Where am I, what’s happening?”

“It would take too long to explain,” Christine said, relieved. But her heart sunk slightly, knowing a friend was lost and a stranger stood in their place. “I know you’re hurt, but you need to get out of here as soon as you can. It’s not safe, trust me you don’t want to get trapped here.”

The mutant nodded, feeling gratitude, even though they didn’t know why. Christine waited until they left before getting to work on repairing the gas valves. Soon enough the air cleared and she was called by Elijah to fix the holograms. Ghosts were getting in now.

 


	6. Love and More Important Matters

By the time they left Vera’s dressing room, the holograms were greeting them like honored guests, or at least weren’t shooting. No ghosts to be found either, despite the doors being thrown wide open. But Dean hardly noticed. Something didn’t sit easy with him as he followed a true ghost in the flesh through the halls of the Sierra Madre.

“Hey, partner…I was thinking…”

“Shoot.” Flora cocked her head to him, her hair falling away to reveal the bullet wounds on her forehead.

“Why don’t we just leave now? With that old bastard here in the casino, we can make a run for it and pop the bowties right off when we are out of range.”

Flashing the sheet music before his eyes, she asked, “What about this? Plus, Christine seems pretty _dead_ set on enacting a well-deserved murder.”

“Vera and I tried to get that gold before…she got the worst of it. I’m sure if she had a second chance, she would have just let it go.”

“And I say, screw letting go. I started with nothing, Dean; I’m not leaving here without _something_.”

She walked like Vera, talked like Vera used to talk…but Dean was blind to Flora. Suddenly he was pushed to the wall.

“Don’t do this to me, Deano,” she seemed to whine, playing with his jacket and pressing ever closer. “We made a deal, didn’t we? You watch my back, I watch yours, and we split the money fifty-fifty.”

A beat.

“What about Christine and God?”

Another beat.

The scar on her neck left by the auto-doc already looked quite healed over, but it stretched slightly when she smirked at him.

“Didn’t I say that? Come on, we can talk more about this later.”

 

* * *

 

“Where’s God?”

The sight of Vera’s old suite was rough on Dean. He had only gotten a handful of chances to see it, especially near the end. But every inch of the room had her signature written all over it. The room had been her haven, or as close to one as she could get with two men constantly hounding after her. Her handwriting on the wall made his heart ache and he turned back to Flora and Christine who were speaking in hushed tones. He just made out:

“I don’t know who he is now, but God and Dog are long gone, that’s for sure.”

“So what now?”

“I was hoping you could tell me…any idea on getting that door open?”

“I was thinking about that…I was trying to hack it before you found me earlier, and it seemed to almost accept my voice, but I still don’t know the password. I thought this music might help.”

“Begin again, but know when to let go.” Dean said, finally joining them. “It was Sinclair’s favorite line from Love Sets Sail—an old movie Vera once starred in.”

Christine crossed her arms. “This place is seeming less and less like a casino. Everywhere I turn, all I see is that starlet’s shadow.”

Dean scoffed gently, “This whole place was made for her. Sinclair loved her, in his own way.”

“Love makes you do strange things—crazy things,” Christine agreed, seeming to lose herself in memory for a moment.

Whatever she remembered seemed to only add to her resolve. Looking to Flora with a new sense of urgency, she said, “Look, whatever happens to me down there…you can’t let Elijah escape. He’s too dangerous—ruined too many lives!”

“Did he ruin yours?” Flora cocked her brow.

“…Yes. He…He separated me from someone I care about…Someone I loved. Still love. All because she was his favorite student. He probably wished she was more, I suspect.”

“You’re going to kill him or die trying.” Flora observed.

“You have a problem with that?”

Flora shrugged. “Not at all. Do what you need to do, we will be up here to receive you, or kill Elijah, as you said.”

Dean looked between them. Christine seemed to believe her.

She was used to facing her own mortality, but routine didn’t settle the unease in her mind and body as the two women made their way to the elevator.

Flora leaned into the terminal, whispering the password as if to a lover in a way that sent chills down Dean’s spine. The light blinked green and the doors slid open smoothly as if they weren’t hundreds of years old. Christine took a deep breathe but after that, all the hesitation left her body. This was it. She would kill him, or never return home. The ride down was long, but all she could think about was the woman she left behind. Who always seemed to see the best in everyone, even the worst of humanity—only wishing to make life a little better for those around her, whether with a light joke or a small vase of broc flowers in unexpected places.

Back in the suite, Flora was listening with her ear to the sliding doors before counting off under her breath. After a minute, she said,

“Alright, I’m going down.”

“What?!” Dean exclaimed incredulously.

“Christine doesn’t give a shit about the treasure. But it’s the only reason I came here. I’m not leaving without it. Come on, you aren’t really going to buy into all that let go and begin again stuff, are you Domino?”

“Why not wait for Christine to come back? Once she’s taken care of Elijah, we can go about this mess on our own terms.”

“Elijah has my robot and everything on this damn rock that I own, if he’s hidden it all and dies without telling me then we certainly won’t make it very far after leaving the Sierra Madre, especially with gold weighing us down and putting huge targets on our heads.”

“You’ve…thought this through.” She was seeming less and less like Vera with every word out of her mouth.

Flora smiled. The same smile she had given him when he was still in that suicidal stupor, wishing desperately that she was a ghost to take him away from this God forsaken casino, or at least, drag him down to hell where all his friends were.

“Try dying. Hell of a ride the first time, but no one kicks a deathclaw twice.”

 

* * *

 

In her rage and impatience, Christine had left the inner workings of the Casino in ruin. Speaker systems and hologram projectors merely sparked at Flora as she climbed deeper and deeper down into the belly of the beast. There were pipes everywhere leaking the crimson toxic cloud into the air.

So this was how the cloud made it so far uphill. It had been sinking down to the villa from the casino this whole time. But why did it exist in the first place? Did Sinclair make it? And if so, why? The casino was supposed to be sanctuary from the carnage below...right?

Flora peeked around a corner, only to come upon an open area with what looked like a vault in the center. The door to the vault opened a few moments later to reveal Christine. burns in a few places, but otherwise unharmed. There was a fury in her eyes, impatience and anticipation at what was to come.

If nothing else, Flora could respect her resolve.

The force fields came down and Elijah stepped into the metallic clearing. Seeing her chance, Flora slipped through, the others too absorbed in each other to notice her. Elijah ranted like he always had, like a mad man.

“So you finally came for me. All this for a girl?”

“She was more than that, and you know it.” Christine growled, “To the both of us. You were obsessed with her for how many years? And yet you couldn’t accept her for who she was.”

“What she _was_ served no purpose to the Brotherhood, you know this. It’s why you left, isn’t it?”

“I left because of you!”

Elijah laughed, his voice taunting. “But not to her. To her, you left because you chose freedom. You think I haven’t intercepted Brotherhood transmissions and reports over the years?” Elijah chucked, “Always asking if there was any word on where you were, if perhaps you were coming home. You broke her heart. Poor Vero—”

“Shut up!” Christine lunged forward, knife spear in hand. Elijah had a gun, but she had no fear, dodging his laser blasts, tackling him to the ground. He was quite strong for his old age, the Brotherhood training making him all the more formidable in his old age.

They tumbled and struggled like that while Flora slipped down the hall Elijah had entered through. There was a small room before the metal tunnel just seemed to lead more directly back to the elevator. It looked an awful lot like the one she had found in the abandoned BOS bunker before getting kidnapped and taken here, simply by how it was also covered in more of Elijah’s scribbles. There were equations yes, but for the most part it all looked like paranoid rambling. Molded papers covered with the same littered the ground, even some pieces of the holo-vendor machines seemed to have been taken along in his rush to get into the casino. None of that mattered, however when Flora found her bag and E-DE shoved into a corner. E-DE had a few extra dents but otherwise looked unharmed. Flora opened up the chassis, clearing some of Elijah’s things out of the storage compartment but keeping the few useful or valuable looking things like a laser pistol and some charges. Hoping the eye-bot was still working, she switched it on. A few sparks here and there coupled with a puff of acrid smoke and E-DE sprung to life. Flora smiled, but hushed it before it could start chirping.

“Just a moment…” She whispered.

Stepping out again with the laser pistol in hand, Flora continued to sneak around the two so absorbed in each other that they only noticed the courier when the vault door sealed behind her.

She heard a voice muffled behind her. “Flora!? Flora—Argh!!”

But she paid no heed, more interested in the sparkling gold bars and crisp paper bills arranged beautifully on a table. She gathered the bars, slipping two into her bag before noticing the holo-vendor in the corner.

_‘Whatever is put in gets its equal in value in another form…’_

Experimentally, she pressed one into the center blue glow. It disappeared as if it never existed, and a list of options for return appeared before her. Flora tapped a few keys and a stack of bills came half way out of the blue, waiting patiently for Flora to pull it the rest of the way out.

 _‘Incredible…’_ it was rare that Flora ever saw anything that surprised her.

There was so much potential for this technology, and yet none of it concerned her. It wasn’t exactly something she could sneak out of the casino with, anyway. No, she settled for converting all but the two bars into light weight easy to carry pre-war money.

When she found the vault door was locked, Flora turned to the terminal at the far end. The keyboard rested on a podium, but the enlarged screen was built directly into the walls, gilded with wings and filigree.

“Oh? A message for me?” She muttered, tapping the message marked “For Vera.”

_‘Vera, if you're reading this, my fears have come to pass, and this is an apology…’_

 

* * *

 

 The door hissed open again and Flora aimed her gun at Christine who had finally gotten the upper hand over the man she so despised. Blood dripped from her side, and she was shaky, but still determined.

“Give it a rest already, will you?” Flora sighed before whistling for E-DE to join her. “Elder Elijah, is it? Oh I suppose it’s just mister Elijah now…anyway it’s good to see you won’t be needing this anymore.”

She held up the bomb collar detonator in one hand, smirking at him.

“F-Flora what are you doing?” Christine asked incredulously, but Flora waved her hand dismissively.

“Oh don’t worry, Christine, you can have your murderous little happy ending, but I need to get out of here with the treasure first. Come on, don’t be difficult…you might be able to take me one on one, but you can’t take myself, my robot and Elijah—that is, if he’s smart enough to see an opportunity to catch you unawares when he sees one. Three against one isn’t fair. Just wait for me to get back upstairs and I’ll leave you to get back to it.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Flora shrugged. “Should it really matter to you? I’m just passing though. I thought you might be relieved that I have the detonator; you can kill him without worrying he will blow your head off at the last minute. But if you try to stop me from doing this one _little_ thing,”

Flora thought for a moment, as if considering all the possibilities. “Well you’re going to wish Elijah set off our collars a long time ago.”

“You…you’re no better than he is!” Christine remembered Elijah only long enough to crush his nose beneath her fist before throwing herself at Flora, spear in hand.

The air was filled with the shrieking of laser beams and Christine collapsed to the floor, her body smoking slightly, now bloody and charred in places.

“Good job, E-DE, now let’s get out of here.”

Christine continued to struggle, despite her smoldering thigh and arms, blood oozing faster from her wound. But all she could do was watch Flora disappear around the corner once more. In the distance she heard the elevator open and close.

Christine would die here. At least Elijah would as well, but that—that wasn’t enough!

“No...no! Please!!” But no one could hear her except for Elijah. “Please! I wanted to see her! After all this, I can’t die with her thinking I didn’t care!”

Christine screamed, pain searing white hot behind her eyes as Elijah slammed his boot into her side.

“I hope you’re prepared to suffer the consequences for not killing her when you had the chance.” He growled. He dragged her up by the neck, “ _Never_ leave loose ends, girl.”

 

* * *

 

Dean jumped when the elevator dinged. Flora stood there, looking completely unharmed with a pip-boy on her wrist and an eye-bot by her side.

“Where’s Christine?” He asked carefully, but her answer only confirmed his fears.

“Elijah got to her before I could help. But don’t worry, I took care of that bastard.” She held up the detonator as proof. She looked sad, then triumphant—all the emotions that would be appropriate in this situation, but they did not reach her eyes.

“Right…and the treasure?”

She pulled the gold out, tossing one of the bars to him. “I hope you don’t mind I converted the rest to cash…but that only means the value of the remaining gold goes up, right?”

Flora changed into the leather armor she so missed. Carefully folding the dress and putting it in her bag, she added, “Come on Deano, we still need to get past the ghosts but soon we’ll be home free.”

Dean followed her out of the casino in silence. The ghosts had long been cleared out, the entire resort would seem truly dead if they couldn’t see the monsters skulking in the shadows. It appeared they knew better than to mess with the collared ones, now. Eventually, they would all starve, trapped in this luxurious cage. The gates closed tight behind them. In the distance the two noticed a subway tunnel going deep into the earth, seeming to go on for miles.

“This was how Sinclair kept his resort exclusive and inconspicuous. He would shuttle guests in after they would be taken ‘on a luxurious hike through the mountains near Lake Mead,’” Dean scoffed, kicking at some rubble. “We were all fools not to see it was one big trap from the start…”

Flora chuckled, but kept it to herself. From there they walked in relative silence for what felt like a day and a half, stopping once to rest. They both breathed a collective sigh of relief when her pip-boy finally picked up radio. The Sierra Madre signal was just crackling at this point so Flora switched to Mojave Music, only for Dean to hiss,

“Turn that damn shite off! I’d rather listen to nothing than that country dribble.”

“Sore spot, hmm?” she asked, changing the station to Radio New Vegas.

Dean scoffed. “I’m sure you know I used to work for Empire Records…they thought it would be a good idea to broaden my fan demographic through…Sarsaparilla commercials.”

“Holy…Did you have to wear chaps, cowboy hat, the whole package?”

“Plus a sheriff star.”

“Well Deano…if it’s any consolation, everyone who has ever laughed at you is dead now.”

It _was_ some consolation, morbid as the thought was.

Eventually they came to the end where a ladder led back up to the bunker. For Flora it was a sight for sore eyes, but Dean could only stare in disbelief at the Brotherhood insignias. The sight of the wasteland was even more jarring once they reached the surface.

“I heard stories…saw the breed of scum that Elijah would drag in. But this…should I be relieved that the Mojave is still the same sweltering shit hole it was when I left?”

 

* * *

 

It was late at night when they got to Novac. Flora smiled when her key slid easily into its lock. They had left the detonator back at the bunker and worn hoods on the way here to avoid being mistaken for runaway slaves. More than far enough to be out of range now, Flora worked on Dean’s collar first.

“Nice place you have here…” Dean muttered, taking off his sunglasses for once and eyeing the torn wallpaper and mysterious stains.

“Maybe I should blow a hole through the wall to get a better view of the night sky like your old place, huh?”

“Cheeky.”

The latch freed and Flora got to work on her own in the cracked mirror of the bathroom around the corner. Dean fell against the groaning springs. He was looking forward not having to sleep with one eye open for a change. Loosening his bow tie and easing out of his slacks, Dean was lulled by the light jazz lilting from behind the bathroom door. His mind was beginning to fantasize about how Flora might want to celebrate their recent freedom when there was a light knock on the door. A clean shaven man in a grimy suit was on the other side, leaning against the door frame with a hopeful grin that immediately fell once he saw Dean.

“Oh, uh sorry. Is ah, Flora still living here?”

“The fuck?” Dean sneered, only for Flora to rush over.

“Bruce!” There was an unsureness in her voice; technically she shouldn’t be here after what happened last week. No one knew about her involvement in the Jeanie May murder, but she certainly didn’t want to run into Boone again.

“Good to see you back! You came and went so fast, and Boone left shortly after I thought something shady was going on.”

“Boone…who? I might have interviewed him for Mister New Vegas, but I handed over those notes to a courier a while back.” She said, sounding confused but smiled back at him all the same. “As for me, I’m just stopping by…did you miss me?”

Dean, feeling not entirely unlike chopped liver retreated to the bathroom for a shower. Flora left with Bruce.

‘It’s like a damn light switch with her…’ he thought bitterly, letting the rust clear from the pipes before stepping into the spray.

“So…should I ask why you sound completely different now?” Bruce asked, eagerly leading her back to his motel room.

“Mister New Vegas is planning on restoring some records his men salvaged recently, I needed to be able to add in where some of the ladies’ voices are too fuzzy. You like it?” She lied smoothly. Flora never had trouble creating a new reality.

Flora came back an hour later. She had also showered, shivering slightly in the cool night air as droplets of water still fell from her skin.

“Pleased with yourself?” Dean asked, sounding hurt.

“I rarely am.” Flora looked bored and disappointed, even though Dean had gotten quite an earful.

“About what happened back in the Madre…where does that leave us now?”

Flora scoffed. “We are still partners. Come now Dean, you never heard of a one night stand?”

“So you just used me like you used Christine!” He lashed out, rising from the bed. Dean didn’t know what he expected, but a part of him had still retained a little hope.

“And you didn’t use me? We both know you’re still obsessed with the poor little druggie starlet that found someone better—”

_Slap_

“Don’t…you _dare_ …” Dean growled, pushing her against the wall.

“People use each other, _Deano_. You used Vera and me and countless others, I’m sure. What, you think I wouldn’t find out? If Dog didn’t put me in that auto-doc, and Christine certainly didn’t, then who could possibly know that the medical ward would have records on Vera? There were terminals filled with files on her visits, including several X-rays of her throat and vocal cords. Funny; the records also always mentioned she never went without you.”

It was Flora’s turn to step forward now, backing him up until he fell back onto the bed. “I—I loved her. I made a mistake, but—”

“Cut the shit. You used me because you knew that the Casino was made for her. That Sinclair would have some security in place _specifically_ for her. No wonder all the other groups sent in failed…they just didn’t have that star quality, did they?”

On his lap now, Flora’s hands were playing with the buttons of his shirt.  She leaned back, thinking for a moment. “I’m not mad…This voice might actually be a little useful. What better way to live on the Strip than as a singer?” Her voice was soft and sweet now, practically cooing at him.

Despite the tenseness of the moment, Dean couldn’t help but remember Las Vegas wistfully. In this new world he had nothing but the money he and Flora had split. The thought of resuming some sort of normalcy after two hundred years of isolation…

“What do you say? Let’s let bygones be bygones. What happens in Sierra Madre stays in the Sierra Madre.”

Dean had a feeling the auto-doc went ahead and gave Flora Lucifer’s tongue as a freebie. Maybe the cloud toxics were beginning to clear from his mind, but he was getting an inkling of the type of person he had sided with.

“…Alright. Partners in crime, and on stage.”

 

* * *

 

The rosy red-head stumbled down the dark winding roads of the dessert. The Mojave outpost had finally kicked her out. Something about Cass starting fights with anyone who glanced her way—including the bartender. Cass used to love the cool night air and privacy of the darkness, even if that also meant there were monsters lurking beyond the veil of shadow. But now it only served as a reminder of her failure. Some snot-nosed chump from the Crimson Caravan came by and twisted her arm about selling her own caravan, and Cass had gotten roaring drunk on a large chunk of the caps she received. It felt like selling her soul, and now her husk wandered non-stop with fancies of going up to New Vegas to spend the rest and forget it all.

“Screw ‘em.” She growled, taking another swig from her whiskey. Somehow after days of endless wandering, Black Rock Mountain now loomed before her. “Screw you too!” She hollered at the top of her lungs.

Somewhere in the distant recesses of her mind, Rose of Sharon Cassidy acknowledged that she was drunkenly climbing a mountain overrun with mutants. She had heard stories of some old guy trapped up there for years. Probably just rumors, but what did she care? At this point, the best case scenario for her life would be for it to end with her getting bludgeoned to death by super mutants. What a way to go, huh? They would tell stories of her idiotic heroism.

_‘That fence doesn’t look so high…’ Thump!_

Cass groaned, clutching her side. “Picking locks is for fucking chumps anyway…” She muttered surprised that no mutants were rushing her, even now.

Cursing under her breath, she grabbed binoculars from her belt and squinted through them. Cass could see shelters made out of fallen satellite disks, but more importantly she saw what looked like some Follower types shooting off their dinky little plasma pistols, trying to defend themselves against nightkin with Rebar clubs. She fell back cackling like a prospector who just struck gold.

“Hoo’, I guess Neil managed to wrangle up a whole army of fools!” She chuckled, wiping a tear from her eye as she stumbled across the empty mountain top. The first building she checked looked like storage shed.

“Helloo? Helloooo? …guess not.”

Damn she was drunk…usually Cass could put down four and still aim straight in a thunder storm. But now she could barely shut the door without losing her foot. At least her heart stopped aching.

“Guess alcohol poisoning really is the best way to soothe the soul…” She muttered, clinging to the wall as she made for the next building over.

This one was much smaller with another blue door at the end. Figuring it was just another way to the outside, she stumbled over, bumping her head against it when it wouldn’t budge.

“Occupied.” Someone growled from the other side.

“Good!” She hollered back, rubbing her head. The jolt had gone straight to her stomach and she could taste the ghost of whiskeys past in the back of her throat. “You a mutant or the old man on the radio?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

“Oh good, I don’t think I’ll make it to three.” she choked, trying to keep the bile down. “Now how am I supposed to open this here door?”

“There’s a terminal over by—”

“Yeah yeah, I see that! But it’s shut tighter than Kimball’s sphincter, how do you expect me to crac—”

Suddenly she was clutching the table as hours of non-stop whiskey made an early check-out.

“…please tell me you missed the terminal.”

“Yeah—ah…” _ptui_ “Yeah the computer’s fine…you said something earlier?”

Cass could just barely hear him mutter under his breath, “De todas las chicas en el desierto...I meant to say it’s password protected. Ready for the code, or are you still a little over encumbered, miss?”

After a pause, she replied, “No I think I’m good for now.”

A sigh. “Alright, the code is one, two, three…”

“One, two, three…”

“Four, five, six…”

“…”

“You need me to repeat that?” he called.

“The password is 123456789, isn’t it?”

“Glad to see you’re sobering up, miss.” He chuckled again as she typed in the rest.

Pressing enter, she was relieved to see the door swing open, but didn't quite expect a ghoul. Although…after years being trapped on Black Rock, who _would_ she expect?

"So...Miguel is it?" She was leaning far too close to read the small cursive on the front of his jumpsuit.

"Look, you saved me so you can call me whatever you like so long as it doesn’t pertain to my ghoulish nature, funny accent, or sore knees." He said, raising an eyebrow at her...or he would if he had them.

She looked him up and down. He could grow a mustache, but not eyebrows? Cass almost asked, but remembered his first of three rules.

"How did you get here, anyway?" She asked instead as he took hold of her shoulders for support and eased her into the chair he had been sitting in before.

Good thing too because as soon as he did, she grabbed for the nearest bucket and puked again.

"Jesus, miss. Was it booze or a cazador that got to you first?" He exclaimed quietly, trying to cover his nose hole. "The leader here wanted a repair guy and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, even when I told her the jumpsuit was just for show. That Tabitha is one mean...well my mother taught me better than to call a woman such things, so in her memory I’ll just say Tabitha's one mean lady."

Once she seemed to be done spitting in the bucket, he passed her a water. "Names not Miguel either, by the way. It's Raul. Raul Alphonso Tejada."

"Rose of Sharon Cassidy, but if you call me anything more than Cass, you’ll have to buy be dinner first." She thrust one clammy hand at him.

He took it, shaking twice. After all, his hand barely had any skin, so who was he to judge?

"Okay Cass, where are we going?"

"Beats me. I Figured I wouldn't make it back down this hill."

Raul sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that night, helping her back to her feet once the bottle was empty. "We still might not, but I say we shouldn't waste whatever golden opportunity got you this far."

It was still empty outside.

"Wai-wai-wait." Cass said, patting his chest and grabbing for her binoculars again.

The Followers won. Neil was talking to one of the nightkin who was in a wig. Poor thing was bawling their eyes out. She passed the binoculars to Raul.

"Good." he said, "Serves her right. Come on, let’s go before she remembers me."

Normally the trip up is always harder, but as Cass sobered up, she began to feel the sore in her legs and the pain in her heart.

They were all dead because of her and she didn't even have the balls to keep up the legacy.

"No one will remember me now." She said glumly, stumbling along the black rock ridges to avoid the cactus traps.

Raul listened but didn't comment, growing still when he heard the sound of hissing not too far away.

"Hey miss, got a second gun you can lend me?"

Without blinking, still arm and arm with Raul, Cass twirled around, spying three radscorpions coming right for them. With one hand she grabbed her rifle from her back, slinging it around, keeping it steady with her shoulder, and fired three rounds into the darkness. The cries of the beasts were quickly lost to the Mojave wind only to be replaced with a whistle from Raul.

"Dinner’s on me. Just promise me to stick to water for the rest of tonight, deal?"


	7. Three's Company, Four's a Crowd

They set out early the next morning, much to Dean’s displeasure. Flora insisted that it would be best for only Bruce to see them in town.

“Told them I was a reporter, I’d prefer they continue to think that.”

Compared to the Madre, taking down the occasional group of raiders or wasteland monsters seemed vacation-like to Dean. Humans were so predictable compared to Ghosts. And they ran away if they began to think they were losing…Ghosts kept coming until their legs get lopped off. And even then they just crawled.

“For the love of God, can we take a break now? I may never get the dust off my suit…”

“Don’t wear a fucking suit then. How are you not sweating your balls off in that get-up, anyway?” she replied, hardly concerned with his discomfort.

“I don’t see how you can say that to me in leather. I shudder to think what’s brewing down there for you…”

Flora smirked despite herself. “We took a long enough break with that lonely drifter guy, but…” She checked her map. “We can stop at the next trading post we see.”

Of course, she said this before spying NCR patrols in the distance. No, not patrols…they were circling what looked like the shell of an old world town bombed to rubble.

“Actually…we can stop here. I’ll do the talking, just agree with everything I say.”

Flora suddenly ran up to the nearest NCR soldier. “Howdy! I’m Flo’, I—I did some spare jobs around the South West Mojave outpost, maybe I can help…What’s going on here?”

Dean watched from a distance, seeing the opportunity for a smoke. It really was like a switch with her, he observed bitterly. How many different characters did she have to pull from at a moment’s notice? And how exactly did _this_ serve her? Putting herself in harm’s way for some punk-rock reject gang?

He choked on his tobacco when she actually walked past the solders and through the city gates. “Fucking hell…”

One of the men walked up to Dean, glancing suspiciously towards the door Flora had disappeared through. “Uh…sir? I was wondering if I could ask you about your traveling companion.”

Dean knew an opportunity to con when he saw one. Maybe it was his turn to put on a character.

“Sorry, but I’m just dying of thirst here old sport, I doubt I could croak out a word without a little bit of water,” he smirked.

The NCR soldier groaned, but tossed him a bottle. Dean sneered when he noticed the sand swirling around inside, but took a few sips regardless.

“I met her on my way from Novac while trading with a caravan. Seems nice enough.” He shrugged.

“Right…and where are you two headed?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need some cleaner water to remember that little tidbit.”

The way the soldier kept grumbling about giving him more water made Dean even more satisfied with each new lie. In the end, he was five bottles richer and the NCR trooper only learned that “Flo” was a reporter from Vegas who got into a bar fight with a crazed old man named Bruce.

“That scar may look bad on her, but you should see the other guy. Ugly motherfucker will have to do it doggy style from now on, if you catch my meaning,” he chuckled before noticing Flora return with the Khans in tow. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

Twiddling a fancy looking lighter, she was immediately intercepted by a giant robot on wheels.

“We really must stop meeting like this, people are going to talk.”

She looked up, plucking the cigarette from her full lips and blowing a thick cloud of smoke onto the screen.

“Long time no see, Victor. And I agree, except…didn’t I see you asleep back in Novac?”

Victor’s screen flickered as she had come to expect it to every time she asked about something he didn’t expect. “Well sweetheart, my broadcasting signal’s gotten a bit stronger since last we met. Turns out, if I get close enough, my consciousness can just leap to the nearest Securetron.”

“And the nearest Securetron just so happened to be here in Boulder City, and you just so happened to be jumping to this bot as I’m passing through?”

The silence between them was palpable while Victor’s screen flickered.

“My, my…the Mojave does work in mysterious ways!” Flora grinned jovially, patting the robot’s front.

“Ha-ha, it sure does. But enough about me. Where have you been this whole time? You disappear for several days, then return out of the blue…with a new voice.”

“That _is_ an interesting story, Victor, but I’m afraid it’s a story for another time. Maybe I can tell you over some drinks once we’re both in Vegas?”

“That sounds lovely…Miss Keyes.”

 

* * *

 

“How did you know that…thing?” Dean asked as they settled on a bench at the 188 Trading Post. He winced at what was on his plate. The performer wasn’t exactly used to gourmet meals, but lizard wasn’t high on his list of favorite foods. He passed her one of the bottles he had conned off the NCR soldier earlier.

“Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black?” she quipped, indicating his ghoulishness while waving off the water, opting instead to light a cigarette with her new toy. She ran her thumb across the Latin inscription that wrapped the body of the lighter. _Nos non habemus ad somnia._ But it was the logo on the base that read, The Tops.

‘ _Bingo_.’

 “He’s more than just a robot…in fact I think there’s more to Victor than he lets on.”

She really did smoke like a chimney, Dean observed. He didn’t know why she bothered; Flora always seemed to get a bitter look on her face when she did.

“Who is _he_ then?” he pressed, settling for eating yucca and prickly pear.

“I’m not sure…but I’m fairly certain the cowboy persona is an act…”

Looking over the edge of the overpass, Flora noticed a young boy. He was all alone. Didn’t even have a shed, just a battered flag and some toys laying around…and a weird metal contraption under one arm. One of the caravan men were talking to him, writing down what he said, as well as what looked like a map with routes scratched all over it.

“Stay here, I’m going to stretch my legs,” she said when she saw the man pass him a rather large bag of caps.

The child stood up as Flora approached, the headband secured back on his head now. “Hello miss, penny for my thoughts?” he asked, smiling slightly at his own inside joke.

“And what if I did?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow.

His smile fell a bit. “Well, it’s actually a hundred caps, and they aren’t my thoughts so much as I tell you about the world…or your present, or you.”

“How could you do that?”

“Well I can always see it, when my medicine is off…but if I take my medicine off for too long, I get headaches mighty fierce.”

After a moment Flora pulled out a roll of bills. “Who am I?”

“Thanks. Okay…Two in the head but you keep walking…Heart beating like clockwork, even when you looked Maria in the eye…You lost more than your memories…your entire life has been more losses than gains. Comforts only confuse because what joys you had left are lost to the wind and sand. No wonder you wanted to forget—”

Flora grabbed the child, shaking him violently. "Shut-up," she muttered, teeth clenched. "Shut-up, no more. I said fucking can it, kid!"

The contact of steel against concrete had her ears ringing before someone dragged her off of the child.

"What is your problem??" A woman in a bulky hemp robe practically screamed at her, throwing Flora to the side where she crumpled like a rag doll against the wall of the underpass, not bothering to get up while the boy babbled incoherently. She rushed to pick up the head gear, fixing it onto his head. The child's eyes cleared, looking about before noticing the red crescents on his arms left by Flora's nails.

"More bad news, huh? Thanks, Veronica."

"No problem, little guy. I'll take this lady back upstairs," Veronica said, before turning to give Flora a dirty look.

Grabbing her by the collar, Veronica brought Flora shuffling upstairs back to Dean, who had watched the entire event transpire in complete shock.

In the distance, they heard the boy call, "No hard feelings, miss. I have no idea what I'm saying when I’m not wearing my medicine!"

"Anthony, quit apologizing to assholes!" Veronica yelled over the rail before turning to glare at Flora once more. "Look, fight and kill whoever you want; it’s the Mojave. But leave the poor kid out of it, he barely gets by as it is."

Flora didn't acknowledge the demand, sitting back down on the bench and taking a sip of her sarsaparilla before asking, "Are you the knight in shining armor around these parts?" she nodded to the metal plating sticking out from under Veronica's robes.

The woman in question immediately looked embarrassed. "What? No! I-just...what are _you,_ the bully around these parts?"

Shrugging, Flora replied, "I could be for enough caps."

"Oh great, one of those." Veronica sat next to them. "Can I ask why you chose to take out whatever deep rooted insecurities you must have on a ten-year-old?"

"I made the mistake of asking about myself. I don't like being reminded about how young I am," she said, impatiently lighting up yet another cigarette.

Once again, the smoke that filled her lungs tugged at her brain, as if something were trying to say, “Hey, remember me?” But no. She couldn’t.

 _“Young_?” Dean exclaimed, suddenly remembering he had never asked her about her scars—at least, the two he wasn't the cause of.

"Technically I'm only a couple weeks old, memory wise," she smiled wryly with a wink, trying to ease the tension. The last thing Flora wanted was to get thrown over the underpass by this woman. "Does that make you feel even more like a dirty old man, Deano?"

"Wait, what? Are you some sort of robot?" Veronica asked. She had heard stories of synthetic humans from caravans that traveled in all the way from the Boston commonwealth, but if any made it all the way west, they certainly weren’t making themselves known.

“Maybe,” Flora smirked, waggling her eyebrows at the two. “How am _I_ supposed to know who I am? Go ask the kid, if you’re really curious.”

Veronica only scoffed. For whatever reason, she couldn’t stay mad at this strange person with her strange smiles.

“So if you aren’t a ‘bot, how did you survive two shots? Whoever got you didn’t exactly miss.”

“I must be luckier than most. But none of that really matters to me now. It’s not like I would shake his hand if I met him again. Whatever he wanted from me, he got.” She pulled out the small stack of courier receipts from her pocket, laying them across the table for the others to read.

After a few minutes of silence, Veronica said, “Let’s say we got off on the wrong foot…where are you two headed?”

“Oh we are going to be the biggest stars in Vegas aren’t we, Deano?” Flora was all winks and smiles now, eager to move the conversation to something she knew. That is, anything but her past.

“That does seem to be our trajectory,” he agreed. “Step two: Take the entertainment scene by storm. Step three: profit.”

“And what’s step one?” Veronica asked, despite herself. She had dreamed of going to Vegas for years. Catchy music, fancy clothes, and old world riches behind a ramshackle wall.

“Getting there,” he replied dryly. What little he had heard from caravans and trading posts, the place was harder to get into than a nun; not that that had stopped Mister Domino before.

Flora was still in a bad mood from talking to that forecaster boy, and the cigarettes weren’t helping. Once more she had that itching sensation in the back of her head that there was something missing. That she was forgetting something, and it was distracting her from the conversation.

_‘Well of course you’re forgetting something, idiot…’_

Flora suddenly looked like she had eaten a bad prickly pear, finishing off the rest of her smoke and putting it out on the palm of her hand. The pain was excruciating, and yet she only continued to turn the roll of tobacco, pushing it harder against her searing skin.

 _‘It’s all your fault…’_ She glared at the embers that still sparked at the end. _‘You make me feel this way, and yet I can’t quit you…’_

“Uh…partner? What do you say?” Dean asked, pulling Flora out of her apparent trance. “What do you think of a little muscle?”

“Ah, hired muscle, of course,” Veronica added, but it was clear by how eagerly she spoke of Vegas, that she was in no place to negotiate. “I do a lot of wandering too. Why not wander together?”

“Don’t we have E-DE? Why do we need more tin?” Flora once again nodded to the armor peeking out from Veronica’s robes.

“This isn’t tin! This is—” she stopped herself, speaking barely above a whisper as she leaned in confidingly, “This is power armor with my own modifications. Better than what most of the BOS has to offer. This power fist? Also mine, also modified. If you had actually killed Anthony back there, they wouldn’t’ve been able to scrape your face off the concrete after I was done with you,” she added menacingly.

Flora laughed, more sincerely than she had in some time. “Fine, you can come for fifty caps a day, paid in pre-war money. But I think we are all interested to know just where you got that armor of yours.”

Veronica had a terrible poker face, clearly unsure whether she should tell them. But it wasn’t like either of them didn’t know _exactly_ who she was aligned with.

“Well…I guess that depends on how you feel about the Brotherhood.”

Dean snorted. “Well Flora, at least there’s one honest person among us. Don’t worry sweetheart, neither of us has anything against those tin men—no offense. To be quite frank I don’t think I’ve actually met one in person before.”

Flora nodded nonchalantly. “Welcome aboard.”

The three shook on it. After Veronica turned to gush over E-DE, Dean nodded to Flora.

What happened in the Madre, stayed in the Madre.

 

* * *

 

Cass woke up to the smell of something cooking. “Meat…” she said groggily, trying to get up only for a wave of nausea to put her right back down.

“Good to know your nose works, ma’am, even if the rest of you doesn’t,” she could hear a voice grumble. Or it sounded like a grumble. Who was that, anyway?

Cass peeked out from her hat that had been shading her eyes from the glaring sun. They were in the bombed out shell of a building. Some shade was provided by a rusted metal sheet, but just enough sun beams made it through, determined to get her right in the eyes. Getting a better look at the ghoul who was cooking molerat bacon over a camp fire, she asked,

“Who the fuck are you?”

With a slight sneer, Raul put his hand over his heart. “You wound this poor damsel in distress, ma'am. And here I was preparing myself to service my savior however she wished."

The blank stare Raul got from that comment made him worry she thought he was actually serious until Cassidy threw her head back and cackled like a coyote. He smiled a little despite himself.

"So I actually lived through that one, huh?" She wiped a tear away before asking, "So why are you still here then? Where ever _here_ is."

He shrugged. "What can I say, years and years of only talking to mutants left me a bit starved for good conversation. Plus I owed you a meal, and you passed out before I could even start a fire last night."

Raul grabbed a strip of meat right out of the pan, cursing a bit under his breath as he shook the hot oil off of it before passing it to her.

"Eat up. I told you I owed you breakfast, didn't I?"

Cass took a bite, resisting the urge to groan at the taste. It was delicious, especially to a body that for the past week had been sustained mostly by whiskey or any other boozy liquid within reach. She noticed her gun lying at his side and suspicion immediately filled her. Cass certainly wasn't carrying much in the way of gear these days, but she did have a sizable bag of caps. But why not just shoot her in her sleep if that was his intention? Raul noticed her staring.

"Noticed the trigger was a little stiff. You really should clean out the barrel more; I almost scratched the inside trying to get all the caked soot out."

Passing her the gun, he explained, "I spent some time in Arizona a while back, made a Petro-Chico refinery my home. They had plenty of these jumpsuits there, and I figured I might as well learn how to fit the part."

"Oh yeah, Ghouls don't age, do they?"

"Not if we can help it," he said with a sarcastic shrug, passing the gun back to put her mind at ease.

"Must be nice being immortal. Maybe once I hit sixty, I wouldn't mind giving that look a try."

"Trust me, you would."

Raul seemed more serious now. He had heard plenty of ghoul jokes before, but at least they all seemed to acknowledge it wasn't easy being one.

_'De nuevo, esta chica realmente no parece importarle lo que le suceda...'_

Cass hardly registered his tone change, shrugging. "Yeah yeah, I wasn't serious...so where are you headed after breakfast?"

Raul licked his fingers, eyeing the sarsaparilla peeking out from her bag. He could really go for something sweet right now—hell, he could have gone for something sweet for the last five years.

"Don't really know. I figure they might have some work for me with the caravans."

His eyebrow cocked when a glob of phlegm hit the dry Mojave sand.

"Don't mess with those cheating bastards. They only care about the bottom line. They'll run you dry then beat you dead." Cassidy spit in disgust.

“So what would you recommend, then, ma'am?" he asked tiredly. He didn’t mind her company— even though most of her company had been spent asleep—but he preferred not to stay in one place for too long. He’d had enough of that.

"For one thing, you can _not_ call me ma'am for starters. I told you, the name's Cass." Now that her eyes were properly adjusted to the light, Cass looked over the horizon. She could still see Black Rock and the Quarry in the distance. They weren't very far away from Vegas. Hell, they could get there in a few days if they started out now. The outpost may have run her out, but even Freeside would welcome her with open arms.

"Why not Freeside?" she asked. "That dump is so run down, you could probably make a good living with the Followers or maybe the Kings."

"And what about you?" he asked, getting up to stretch his legs. They were sore from disuse, only serving to remind Raul just how old he was.

"Well the muties didn't kill me, so maybe the booze in Freeside will."

"I must say you have a rather morbid fixation, Cass, not that it's any of my business. Does this mean we will continue to be a savior and damsel duo until we see those tacky gates?"

Cass nodded, finishing her food and grabbing the sarsaparilla bottle from her bag.

"Let’s see what's out there for us, Raul."

She popped the cap off, pocketing it and taking the first swig before passing the rest to Raul.

Watching her get a head start on him, Raul sighed as the first sugary sweet hit his tongue. After the bottle was half empty, his eyes began to drift to her ass. It swayed like she was still drunk, even though she hadn't had much except for water since they escaped Black Rock. Nope, he would certainly not mind being the damsel in this duo. He was an old man, after all; why not let the young ones do the work for a while?

He shook his head, pushing _that_ thought out of his mind. _‘Hombre viejo y sucio...’_

 

* * *

 

Siri wiped her brow. Vulpes kept his promise. She had a tent all to herself to give medical care. It felt so good to be out of that cramped tent, and stay busy, even if staying busy was helping the enemy. The past few days had been filled with cleaning infections and poorly tended gashes. She swore, these legionaries did more harm to each other in that damn arena than the entire NCR. Sadly however, the soldiers weren't her biggest concern. The women here, while for the most part infection-free, were horribly treated. Siri didn’t know what she expected. All the wives had a brand of some sort on their bodies, usually the name of the legionary who owned them. And no slave, male or female, was without scars littering their bodies from whippings or more gruesome punishments. Often she had to pry small rocks or scraps of metal out of the skin that had been healed over.

But the women more than the men seemed to take the brunt of the punishments, especially the wives of high ranking legionaries. Often the Legate’s wives would come in simply to have a joint popped back into place, or something to calm the swelling on a particularly harsh welt caused by his bear-like hands. Siri, as much as she hated the man she was forced to bed with nightly, was almost grateful that he was gentle. Or at least, not rough in the way that Legate Lanuis was. None of the NCR’s rumors lived up to the man himself. He was a beast, standing at least two feet taller than the tallest soldier. Even in the short time that she had been enslaved, Siri had already seen him order a decimation. Vulpes insisted she go to the arena with him, likely so he could prove that he wasn’t so violently unreasonable as his peers—that she could trust him because at least he didn’t do those things in front of her.

As if he was called by her very thoughts, Vulpes stepped through the tent flap.

"Welcome back, Vulpes," she said. He smiled faintly when she said his name.

Even after excursions, he never returned dirty, always going to his tent first to clean up. Usually he had Siri bathe him, but the amount of injured today had been higher than usual. He silently paced the small tent, examining the bags of powder, salves, and potions she had spent hours painstakingly crafting. At last he turned to Siri and she lowered her head, placing both hands on the counter before her.

"It looks to be a few more hours until the sun goes down, husband...do you wish for me to leave my post early?"

"There will be no need of that..." he said, taking one of the vials of black drink off the shelf. "Curious...as I'm sure you know, many profligate women use more potent mixtures of this as a method to avoid their designated purpose of child rearing. Strange how such a healing mixture can also kill in such strong doses."

Vulpes looked up to her, and Siri met his eyes, wearing her usual blank yet compliant mask. "Often when I am sent to gather Intel on the strip, I find pills of this offered to female guests, but the whores of Gomorrah especially have huge stockpiles of this, taking them after a day spent spreading their legs for the other degenerates.

The Caesar, in his mighty wisdom, has outlawed such practices. The women here are kept clean by only attending to one man as their wife. We do not have whores in our lands."

Siri blinked, and that was the only tell he needed. She cursed herself for letting the mask fall. Vulpes came closer, but left the counter as a barrier between them.

“It is most fortunate for you that Caesar is not familiar with these particular practices of contraception, otherwise even I would not be able to protect you from his wrath." He placed a single black pill on the counter.

Leaning in, Vulpes whispered, "I told him I would ask you for clarification on what it was. I intend to tell him later that it is to ease the monthly pain of his wives, but that it would be best for them to endure the pain as a show that Legion women are stronger than the profligates. It would be in your best interest to stop distributing this, wife. I personally don't know what I would do if I found one of these in my own tent."

His tone was quite serious, and there was no doubt in Siri's mind what would become of her if she defied him. Biting her cheek, she nodded.

Suddenly she felt a hand on the top of her head, feeling the short curls that had already begun to grow. She stiffened, disgust welling up inside of her as he petted her like a favored dog.

"I would like to see a great mane of soft curls on you someday, my wife. Truly you have beauty to enrage Venus...and I would hope the wisdom to match."

With that he left her, knowing the pills would be crushed and burned before she returned to him that night.

 

* * *

 

"I thought we were going to Vegas," Veronica said, looking wistfully to the tall buildings in the distance. Not even a half a day's travel away, she could practically taste the gourmet Brahmin steak and two hundred year old wine. No, instead they were being waved into Camp McCarran.

She didn't exactly care to be among the NCR, either—especially if any of them noticed who she was truly aligned with. Veronica hadn't fought in the Battle at Helios One, but many she knew had died there.

"It never hurts to be neighborly. Besides, surely you noticed the monorail that goes directly into the Strip from here," Flora explained under her breath, turning to smile seductively at the soldiers they passed. They smiled back, puffing out their chests, some attacking the combat dummies with added vigor.

"Yeah, but that’s strictly for NCR citizens. Even Mojave locals have to pay a passport fee in Freeside to get in," Veronica said as she lowered her hood to hide her face.

"Everything is negotiable. You don't have to join me, I work better alone anyway, but if you don't, I might not be able to secure us three seats on that monorail."

Dean held Veronica back as Flora and E-DE went into the concourse. "She's all talk. Let that woman work her magic, and we might as well be dancing down the streets by nightfall."

"How did you meet her again?" Veronica grumbled, leaning against the wall and enjoying the rare shade from the glaring Mojave sun. “Not that you two don't make an excellent couple, but well...I mean...it's not every day that you see a woman like that with a--well..."

 _'Oh for fuck's...'_ "With a ghoul?" Dean asked, glaring at her from behind his shades.

"That's not!—well...it is, but..." Veronica was really sticking her foot in it now, struggling to find the right words but only digging her grave deeper.

"Looks like you really hit rock bottom, Deano..." he grumbled to himself. Before the war no one would have questioned him if the bloody Queen was on his arm. "Not that it should matter, but Flora and I aren't _together_. We are just partners. We met in Novac while trading with a passing caravan." He repeated the line they had agreed on. "Turns out, she and I were both going to Vegas for the same reason, now we are partners in crime…as it were."

Veronica nodded, still a bit uncomfortable from her earlier blunder. As they waited in the cool shade, a muscular woman walked up to them, her eyes trained on Veronica like a hawk. She was tall, but not as tall as Veronica by a few inches. She seemed to ignore Dean when her arm shot out, walling Veronica in with a smirk and a wink.

"Honey, you are some Grade-A poon...haven't seen you around these parts...you must be a local, hmm?"

Veronica lit up like a thermometer. "I ah--yes! Um what's it to you?"

Dean slapped a palm to his forehead. Seems like all he ever did was spectate these days, and now he had to watch this pathetic attempt at flirting.

Oh wait, no he didn't!

Dean gave them privacy, opting to go chat with some of the other personnel on break, maybe catch up on what had been going on the past couple centuries in his absence. But it was only after a few minutes of making conversation with a stuttering chap that Veronica came running for him again.

"S-she was really intense! I—I knew things were more relaxed out here, but—wow!"

"Need to go change?" Dean asked dryly, handing her some water so she could cool off.

"B-B-Betsy at it again?" Ten of Spades sighed, looking up apologetically. "Sssorry about her, she's been g-g-getting worse lately. Dhatri doesn't knnow what to do with her."

"I though the NCR was okay with 'these sorts of things'?" Veronica asked guardedly.

Ten threw his hands up defensively. "Oh w-w-we are! I-It's just...She only ssstarted acting really aggressive...recently. Sssorry, it's not my place to say a-anything."

Dean was already getting bored. Honestly, he was constantly annoyed with Veronica's bubbly personality, opting to ignore her whenever possible. Veronica looked concerned and stayed with Ten while Dean decided to go look for Flora.


	8. Losses and Gains

The concourse was so poorly lit that Dean actually took off his shades. Hearing a heated conversation upstairs, he decided to investigate, only to find Flora behind the glass of an interrogation room, staring down a man in what looked like a Roman soldier costume bound to a chair. By the looks of it, they were getting nowhere, but the soldier’s face looked a little red. He was eyeing her with doubt.

She got closer, leaning in to whisper something into the man's ear. It was on the side away from the glass so no one could read her lips. As Flora spoke, the legionary became more and more nervous, when suddenly she flicked open a straight razor and the man began to holler, struggling against his bindings.

"Caesar doesn't tell us anything! I've done everything he commanded, I’m too important to fall on my sword! Curse the fool's paranoia—he’s gone mad! I would have followed him into the flames of hell, and an assassination is my gift?!"

Flora immediately withdrew, exiting the small room only to be confronted with a furious woman in uniform.

"I thought I told you, you couldn't bring in any weapons!"

"He doesn’t have a scratch on him. You got what you wanted, didn't you? He talked.” Flora didn’t bat an eye, ignoring the curses that came from inside the interrogation room. “Anything else I can help you with around here?”

“I thought you said you were a reporter for Mister New Vegas…” the woman grumbled, fishing out a paper and pen. She wrote out a rather large sum of caps owed before handing it to Flora. “You can refund that with Contreras.”

“What can I say? I have a way with words.” Flora gave her that signature smile.

“What did you say to him?” Dean asked once they were out of earshot.

Looking around to make sure they weren’t overheard, Flora leaned in to whisper into his ear, “Caesaris ira ad te venit. The Legion has a real flare for the dramatic.”

“How do you…know that?”

"We've crossed paths on more than one occasion." There was that same strange smile of hers. The one that said 'Stop asking questions. This explanation should be enough for you.’

But as Dean continued to get smiles and not much else, they had less and less of an effect. Veronica was so new to Flora's charm that she readily went along with anything the woman said, despite the rocky first meeting. Noticing his discontent, Flora sighed, pulling him into the nearest supply closet. It was only when she started undoing his trousers that Dean got over his surprise enough to stutter out,

"Wh-what the damn are you up to now?"

"You looked a little put out, Deano," she muttered, tracing her lips along his shaft in a way that made him shudder. "Thought I could lighten your mood. Are you really going to try and stop me?" Flora asked with a wink. “Last time I checked, you weren’t _that_ sort of gentleman.”

Of course he wasn't, and she knew that. Dean leaned his head against the wall, letting his eyes fall shut as his hand tangled in her hair. Digging her nails into his ass to keep him from bucking his hips too fast, Flora felt another sudden wave of nostalgia.

 _'Damn...'_ She tried to distract herself, focus on the task at hand. The cigarettes she could understand—perhaps in her past life she smoked like a chimney, but this? Flora had been under the impression that she was a courier, not a whore.

Dean was beginning to make too much noise, grunting and whispering nonsense about Vera. Flora pulled back, looking up at him in mild annoyance. "Quite the romantic, Mister Domino."

"Ah, sorry," he said, clearly not meaning it. After all, they used each other; why was now suddenly different?

Flora sighed. "Fine, go on then," and she continued to suck his ragged cock. Whatever heat that had stirred in her core was already dissipating as Dean went on to growl about Vera some more, hips rocking harder and harder until he was spilling himself down her throat.

He didn't taste as bad as she expected, the radiation of his cum tingling on her tongue.

"What is Veronica up to?" she asked, wiping her chin.

"Helping one of the soldiers, I think." Dean fixed his pants and opened the door for her.

"Good. I'd like for you to do the same."

"You're really trying to get them to like you, it seems."

"And why not? What good is it to me if people have no opinion of me? Come now, Dean. You were a star, surely you know the danger of neutral attitudes."

"I'm a star _right_ _now,_ " he insisted bitterly. "People just haven't been looking my way in recent years, is all." But he knew what she meant, watching her head deeper into the concourse to buy more supplies and refund the I.O.U. while he caught his breath.

Veronica was smirking at him when he found her. "Just partners, hmm?"

Apparently, they were even louder than Dean had assumed—or rather, he was louder—and word travelled fast. Or perhaps it was the fact that his tie and zipper were both undone.

"Fuck off," he growled. "What happened to that Betsy girl?"

"On her way to a medical clinic for some counselling. Ten is going too for support, but I think he needs help too."

"You don't seem too pleased with yourself," he observed, trying to move conversation away from his personal matters.

"It's...not about that..." Veronica said, looking down. "It's just...I've been seeing a lot more of the Mojave now than I used to and I thought I might see...never mind, it doesn't matter."

Dean decided not to push, but there was something about what she said that piqued his interest for once. Was she looking for someone?

"Let's see if they need a little more help around here. Come on, there's a mess hall inside."

 

* * *

 

_"Rafaela? Rafaela! Dónde estás?!" Raul felt himself running through the pitch black of the night. His body became heavier and heavier, and realization dawned on him as a tiny figure came into view._

_He spied the tiny scar on her leg, almost completely hidden among the blood, gore, and other bodily fluids that were most certainly not hers. His body fell, but he could not feel any pain in his knees, his shoulders shaking as gravity seemed to weigh even more heavily on his form._

_They would pay. Every last one of them. To their dying breath, he swore they would know his name, his fury, and the demons of hell would shudder to think of the pain he inflicted on the bastards in life._

His eyes flew open.

"Rafaela..." He whispered, feeling a tear prick the corner of his eye as he surveyed the dark hotel room he and Cassidy had taken refuge in the night before.

His eyes fell on the sleeping red head, a half full bottle in her hand dripping whiskey on the old rug. He had insisted she take the bed. Well, insisted implied she actually put up a fight, but by that point in the night, Cass was already quite drunk, falling to the mattress and snoring like a storm. With a slight grunt, he got up from the couch, taking the bottle from her and setting it on the nightstand. For her sake, he didn't open the curtains, instead heading to the bathroom to freshen up. It had been so long since he had an actual bathroom to get clean in. Usually Raul had to make due with a bucket of already dirty water and a spoon. Here, he had a whole mirror, even if it was cracked in some places. Before his capture, Raul had always maintained a strict hygienic routine, even in the bombed out desert. Careful around the edges of exposed muscle, Raul scrubbed hard at the dirt and sand that seemed to embed itself in every crack and crevice—of which he had many since becoming a ghoul. Finding a toothbrush in the cabinet, he rinsed it thoroughly in vodka before brushing his teeth. Raul Tejada prided himself on having exceptional teeth, for a wastelander, ghoul, or otherwise. It wasn't like toothbrushes had been wiped out in the war, so it was your own damn fault if your molars fell out and you starved to death.

Raul cleaned the dirt from under his nails, eyes sharp for even the smallest speck. Next, he pulled out some agave paste he had bought from one of the caravans they passed. He grimaced at himself in the mirror. The sight never quite lost its effect on him. Raul remembered when he had hair in more places than just his upper lip. His mother used to harp on him endlessly for how much he spent on hair gel. Now he considered himself lucky that the mutants hadn't pulled out what little mustache he had. The scent of the paste helped to ease his mood as he spread it through the course black hairs, sticking them into place.

Cass was up by the time he left the bathroom, chugging water and stretching her sore muscles. She winked at him as he got dressed. "Oh, don't cover up on my account!"

She whistled, smirking at him when he made a fig with his hand at her.

"Why bother airing out those clothes if you’re just going to sweat all over them again today?"

"So that I don't end up smelling like you, ma'am. Who's the ghoul here?"

"I told you to call me Cass, and I thought we weren't supposed to make fun of your 'ghoulish nature'?"

"You aren't. I can say whatever I want about it." There was a bit of bite to his tone, so Cass backed off. Raul had bought a magnum with the same caravan—well, technically she bought it, but who counted caps?—but now he actually looked like he wanted to shoot something.

"You know...I heard from some patrols that the NCR was having a lot of trouble with the fiend ring leaders. These caps of mine won't last forever, and you still owe me for the gun."

"So I should earn my keep, is that it, _Cass_?" he teased, but he was already zipping up his clothes and loading his gun.

She followed him out, pointing in the direction of the west Vegas ruins. Cass kept the fiends off his back, but as she watched him work, Cass found herself firing off fewer and fewer bullets. Raul rarely missed a shot, but when he did, he would scream curses in Spanish. Anger emanated from him, rage that felt all too familiar to her. He had been trapped for so long, was it just letting off steam, or something else? Whatever it was, it resonated with her.

Who had he lost?

She stopped herself. It didn't matter who he lost or even _if_ he lost anyone. It was none of her business. Suddenly she felt herself thrown roughly to the ground. One of the fiends had managed to surprise her. Holding a gun to her head and laughing desperately. His gun clicked. It was stuck. The next second, his head was blown clean off and the rest of him was pulled off of her by Raul.

There was the fire in his eyes, but it was different, now. There was a sadness there, and something close to relief to see she was alright.

"Are you alright?" he asked, holding out his hand for her.

"Yeah, yeah, just caught me off guard, is all," she said, taking his hand.

“Not to make light of or encourage your crippling addiction, but maybe a little less whiskey and you won’t be caught unawares like that.”

“Har har,” she punched him on the shoulder, a little surprised that his apparent killing spree up to this point hadn’t bathed him in blood by now. Was he a professional of sorts? Couldn’t be—otherwise how would he have gotten caught by those muties in the first place?

Raul kept a better eye on her this time, and they watched each other’s backs. The pair was already causing too much of a commotion, the ones called Driver Nephi and Cook-Cook looking their way, signaling for more of their fiends to dive into the fray. But they were all just cannon fodder against the fiery caravaner and her gun slinging ghoul. Raul took care of them from a distance, but if they got too close, Cass was there to get them in the gut.

“You’re catching up there, boss! And here I thought I would be earning my keep,” Raul called, over the sound of plasma rifles and gunshots.

“Hell no! I’ll be keeping you in my debt until I’ve got my own mountain!” she called back, laughing despite herself. She watched out of the corner of her eye…Nephi and Cook-Cook were watching them from a distance, whispering to each other and planning the next attack, surely.

Suddenly there was a howl, no—a whole pack!

“Shit, look out!” Cass screamed, turning in the direction of the piled-up trailer hitches and taking down two of the mad dogs. “Violet’s joining in!”

Raul swore under his breath, cursing his knees as he belted for the two men. One shot, miss. Another and Nephi was down. He turned to help Cass, but she seemed to be handling herself with the dogs, so he rushed for Violet.

“Come on, miss,” he almost begged tiredly, already very out of breath. “I really don’t care for killing women.

Violet only laughed, taking a giant huff of jet before diving at him with her knife. Raul side stepped her, clipping her in the back of the head.

Raul stared at her body incredulously. “You had your gun right here…why bring a knife to a gun fight?”

Hearing a scream, his head shot up, and his blood ran cold. Cook-Cook had gotten the best of Cass, tackling her to the ground with her gun tossed to the side. She was putting up a good fight, but when the sound of tearing fabric reached Raul’s ears, all he saw was red.

Now he could understand why Violet chose a knife. Sometimes, a gun was just too impersonal. Her blade in hand, Raul grabbed Cook-Cook by his greasy mullet, pulling him back and slicing his neck open. Cass rolled out of the way before the blood could rain down on her. She coughed, Cook-Cook had damn near choked the life out of her. When she looked back, Raul was still stabbing at his lifeless body.

“Y nunca se atreven a herir a otra alma! Espero cerberus te folla y lava derrite su pene en el infierno! Pagarás por lo que le hiciste a Rafaela!”

“Raul!” Cass pulled him away. “He’s dead, let it go! Let’s just take the heads and leave!”

His jumpsuit was ruined. Panting hard, he dropped the knife. Raul stared into nothing, but at least he was done with the body. Cassidy took up the knife. Most of the fiends were gone now, or too scared to approach the two.

“Go back to El Ray…I’ll collect the bounties, go clean up…”

Raul finally looked up at her, then back down on his clothes. He thought these days were behind him…Black Rock had made him restless. Nodding quietly, Raul turned to head back but stopped at Cook-Cook’s shelves. He grabbed a bottle of sarsaparilla before leaving.

 

* * *

 

Colonel Hsu kneaded his temple as lieutenant Boyd gave her report on the successful interrogation. Of course, Boyd was suspicious of all new faces; times like these, you'd be a fool not to be. But you couldn’t just turn away every helpful volunteer just because they weren’t NCR citizens born and raised. Sure, people of the Mojave were taking longer than expected to warm up to the NCR intrusion, but here were good folks willing to help. Suddenly a woman walks through the door with skills they need, willing to do jobs that wouldn’t look good on paper, and Carrie was trying to push her out.

“For cripes sake, Lieutenant, she’s a courier from the Mojave—an odd job man. She’s probably pimped in Freeside for all I care.”

“She said something to Silus yesterday. Something she refused to repeat, that had him so shaken up, he’s singing like a bird—and this morning I find him with a bloody halo! It looked like suicide, but we both know he didn’t just find a gun. Especially a gun that only leaves a .22 bullet and runs off,” Boyd insisted, slamming her hand against his desk in frustration

Hsu got up to close his door, speaking quietly now. “We both know there’s a mole in here. Now it could be Flo…or it could be the symptom of a pre-existing condition. So far Flo and her little troop have done more good than harm, so I’m liable to trust them. Besides, they have a ghoul with them. The Legion hates ghouls even more than they hate women.”

Boyd was still uncertain, but nodded reluctantly. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

It was ‘Flo’ smiling like sunshine and sipping from a warm mug of coffee—or rather the wasteland equivalent—as she nodded to the both of them.

“It’s about time I headed back to Vegas if you don’t have another job for me? Don’t worry, I’ll have nothing but the best to report to Mister New Vegas about what I’ve seen here. Although, I was hoping I might get to take the monorail directly to the strip instead of a day’s walk…”

Boyd and Hsu exchanged a glance, before the lieutenant sighed.

“We have been having some trouble with information leaks…if you could look into that, we might be able to get you three seats.”

Flora’s face lit up. “Of course! I’d be happy to. It won’t take too long though, will it? I’m afraid I was hoping to use one of my last travel days to spend a night in the Tops. The performances there really can’t be missed!”

The more she talked to the caravans and soldiers, the easier it became to lie through her teeth about a place she’d never actually been before. Well, maybe she had…after all, what she said didn’t sound _wrong_.

“It shouldn’t take long at all...” Hsu proceeded to explain to her that they had a mole, someone leaking info about their patrols.

“And it doesn’t help that the radio control tower has been used for some late night rendezvous,” Boyd added with a sneer.

“…And you didn’t think those two things were connected?” Flora asked, hiding her disbelief well.

“Look, we have a lot of soldiers here who haven’t seen shore-leave in months. I’m not going to fault then for finding some time for stress relief during off hours.”

“Right…well I’ll see what I can do then, sir.”

Flora stepped out, going through the list of suspects, knowing that Boyd and Hsu would be watching her. But she already knew there would be nothing to do until nightfall.

 

* * *

 

ED-E chirped at Flora as they chilled in one of the fighter jets stationed near the radio control tower. The eye bot was nestled between her knees while she fiddled with his wiring, checking again to make sure Elijah hadn’t tampered with him.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to…besides, we both know Domino isn’t my strangest bed fellow,” she muttered, peeking out the window, but still seeing no one. “And don’t worry, I’m not replacing you. Besides, your radio beats my pip-boy anyway!” she added with a chuckle.

ED-E tittered, and Flora shook her head. “No, no that’s not true! Even if you weren’t filled to the brim with my things, I would have looked for you. I would have never left you with that mad man.”

Sometimes…if felt like she connected with ED-E more than people. Flora didn’t get it, maybe just because ED-E didn’t talk back—not really. She never questioned why she could understand it, and she couldn’t…but she always got the gist, as it were.

Retrieving a vial of blue liquid from her pocket, Flora smiled. That lab assistant—Angela—had let her borrow some equipment, showing her how to create more potent chem doses.

_“It’s my partner, you see. He’s a ghoul, and he’s been suffering chronic joint pain for years now. Regular doses don’t cut it, and he hasn’t gotten a good night’s rest in so long…”_

_Angela smiled. She knew what it was like to see someone you cared about in pain. “_ _Kee—_ _I have a friend who had the same problem…but she never stopped working. Here, if you slow boil reduce the solution while adding five milliliters every minute, you should be able to get a strong enough dose. Just make sure not to confuse them with your own chems—ghoul levels of potency can be lethal for the rest of us.”_

Flora looked up when the radio tower light went on. “Show time,” she smiled, clambering out of the fighter jet. ED-E followed close.

Flora slipped into the tower using the key Boyd had reluctantly given her. Signaling for ED-E to stay behind, she crept up the stairs of the towers as a familiar voice drifted to her ears.

“Go ahead, Picus, over.” The voice was smooth, never quite able to drop its sinister tone, even when conversing with allies. Flora could not believe her luck.

“Some freelance assassins have taken out Violet, Cook-Cook, and Nephi.”

“Damn…what of the remaining fiends?”

“Some are leaving the vaults in an attempt to resist against future NCR attacks, but an afternoon patrol is scheduled to enter their territory again at thirteen hundred hours—likely to wipe the rest out for good.”

“…I will send a squad of prime legionaries to assist and lay out mines. What is the status of your primary mission?”

“Charges are set. In just a few minutes, the next train is scheduled to leave. But it will not make it to Vegas.”

“Too bad, I was hoping to catch a morning train,” Flora sighed wistfully, causing the legion mole to whirl around to face her in shock.

She pushed him against the desk, straight razor pressed to his neck as the med-x needle stabbed through his uniform and into his heart. Shock and adrenaline only made the chemical spread through his body faster until the man collapsed to the ground, eyes bugging out as his heart slowed to a near stop.

“Ave, Vincent,” she purred, taking the mouthpiece and whispering into it like the ear of a lover. Leaning against the desk, Flora watched the man before her slowly die.

“So it was Curtis this whole time…”

“Flora?” Vulpes said over the radio, whatever surprise he might have been feeling was hidden well. Even with a different voice, her tone was unmistakable. “…Am I to assume the Frumentarius Picus is dead?”

“Soon enough. But don’t worry, I won’t get in the way of your schemes. I’m just a little disappointed that I’ll have to walk all the way to the Strip is all…”

“That is a realm of degenerates. You would do well to stay away.”

“And go where? I must live, Vulpes. And from what I’ve heard, a woman of the Legion does not live a life of comfort. You cannot tell me otherwise.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

“Where do we stand now?”

Flore picked at the polish of her nails. It was a dark blood-like red—one of the ones stolen from Boone.

“There is one last loose end over here, but after that I’m leaving McCarran. Even if I didn’t tell you, I’m sure a man like you could find whoever he seeks. Goodbye for now, Vincent.” And she switched off the radio and set to work dragging the half dead body back to the concourse.

Dean was waiting for her by the doors. The concourse was fast asleep at this hour; even the guards usually posted outside the entrance of the concourse were gone, seeing no point in keeping watch when the train was on their end. Flora hadn’t told him why to wait, but here he was.

 _‘Ever the obedient pup…’_ He sneered at himself in disgust before noticing her dragging a man through the doors.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Captain Ronald Curtis. Legion spy, murderer of war prisoner Centurion Silus, and reason for the monorail exploding,” she replied, motioning for him to help her carry him.

Dean had seen this before, knowing not to correct her, or ask what she meant. Flora found the bomb easy enough, laying Curtis down near it and putting her own silenced .22 pistol in his hand. She had no fear of him shooting her. Even if he had the strength to pull the trigger, he had seen Flora talk with Vulpes. She was protected by that association alone.

“Say hello to Silus when you get to hell,” she smirked. “After all, now you will have something more in common than just being traitors to your factions.”

Dean watched her tap something into the monorail’s controls, starting up the engine.

Stepping off the monorail, she turned to Dean. “Try to brace yourself.”

He was going to ask, hell he had plenty of questions. But before he could, the train began its departure, getting a good fifty feet out before Flora signaled to ED-E, who shot the explosive like a bullseye. They were thrown back by the blast, shielding themselves with their arms when burning metal shrapnel shot their way. Flora’s fall was cushioned by Dean who crumbled against the wall, groaning in pain.

 

* * *

 

Vulpes was tingling in excitement after she hung up. She was back…his desert rose was back, and sounding even lovelier than before. Would she also appear lovelier? What metamorphosis had his muse gone through? For she was his muse. In her mysterious absence, Flora had never left the Frumentarius’ mind. All he had heard before her disappearance was that she was passing though Legion conquered lands, only to be freed on standing orders from Vulpes. He had questioned Dead Sea endlessly on what she had said, laughing to himself about her clearly false story. The idea that she was a tribal was so absurd to him. Surely she must be a former NCR citizen who, displeased with their methods, wished to live in freedom in the Mojave. But even that theory had no weight to it as his spies in California reported no record of her. Did she have many false names?

Picus had been a loyal servant, but the thought of her tearing the life from him in vicious glory…he could not be angry. And what harm was one Frumentarius? He had been working within the NCR for so long, he had little use outside of it. After this latest job it would have been unlikely that he could stay a spy for long.

Yes…yes it was his time. He died like a warrior in Caesar’s name.

Vulpes turned when Siri came through the door. He looked so intense, she almost made up some excuse to work late in the medical tent.

“My wife,” he whispered raptly, though his mind was clearly somewhere else.  
Vulpes grabbed her shoulders, kissing Siri with a passion she had not yet known from him in their short ‘marriage.’

She still hated to think of it that way. She was a slave; not just for labor, but even her body was his to use as he pleased. As sick as it made her, Siri relaxed her muscles, letting him pick her up and set her on his desk. Vulpes’ books clattered to the floor but he didn’t seem to care, so overcome with his fantasy of the red haired muse. In his mind she was adorned in pure white robes of silk, gold on her arms and filling her hair. Her lips were stained and sweet like berries when he kissed her, her skin smooth and warm like sunlight beneath his fingers as Vulpes strove to grasp and stroke every part of her. His muse spread her legs eagerly for him, and Vulpes sunk into her heat. His mind’s eye was filled with sunlight and wheat fields, gold everywhere in the rays of the sun, the bleached grains, and the riches of his muse.

“W-Who are you?” he shuddered a whisper, hand cupping the back off her neck as he lavished her shaking shoulders with urgent, open-mouthed kisses.

“Your wife, my husband…” Siri gasped, brow furrowing as she felt an orgasm loom despite herself. She always hated this the most, the betrayal of her body as Vulpes pounded relentlessly into her. But to not give into her bodily needs would only lead to more of the same until Vulpes was satisfied that she had been adequately pleasured against her will.

Her words only made him groan desperately, eyes shut tight as he imagined _her_ flaming hair and rosy cheeks, moaning his praises, and holding his body ever closer.

Vulpes stilled himself inside her with one final snap of his hips. The Mojave heat was especially harsh that night, quickly turning their sweat slicked bodies sticky. Opening his eyes, Vulpes was brought back to reality. His wife was beautiful, but she was not his muse. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips before withdrawing to undress.

“Bring in some buckets for us to wash up, Siri. Don’t bother to heat them up.”

Despite her shaky legs, Siri was quick to obey him, seeing that Vulpes was once again lost in thought.

As she scrubbed his back, Vulpes pored over one of his many ancient tomes, avidly reading the old Latin that was beyond even her expertise. Siri noticed his knuckles go white as he held the papers tighter, almost tearing them. Had he found what he was looking for, or did whatever plague his mind still elude true understanding?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it, even a heart is appreciated! My tumblr is http://victoryygin.tumblr.com/ and you can access my other social media that way


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